


Gentrification, or How Not To Be A Sow's Ear

by strangegibbon



Series: Gentrification [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: AU, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangegibbon/pseuds/strangegibbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke needs a few lessons in etiquette and Fenris is the most qualified to help, much to the dismay of both parties. Hopefully they can manage not to kill each other in the process.</p><p>Find it in Russian at http://ficbook.net/readfic/2628013 - all thanks to the talented lenokkk :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Summonses and Unfortunate Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading through this a few years after it was done I can properly tell I had no beta at the time. Still, can't ask her to work this so many years after the fact so I've gone through it myself. Bits re-written, grammar corrected, hilarious lines of dialogue added, likely a million mistakes still missed ;)

" _Another_ letter for you, Hawke" Gamlen grumbled, shoving a gilt edged square in her face. "Anything else you need from me? Should I await your reply and courier it for you? Carry you to the sender personally?"

"If you truly wanted to be helpful a little light cleaning wouldn't go amiss, Uncle" she retorted, eyeing the loopy writing on the envelope with some dismay.

She waited until he'd stomped off, muttering, before perching on a desk. The return address was that of the Viscount and that was the main reason she was handling the missive like an unexploded flask. Contact with him never ended well although it did tend to fill her purse for a while. Still, it was better than sending the City Guard to her door demanding she accompany them to the Keep like he usually did. Marginally. Sighing, she ripped open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. After reading though the missive she stared into space for several moments, mouth open, and then read it again. Half an hour later Bethany bustled in to find her sister, arms folded and face tight, glaring holes in the already much abused floor.

"Something wrong?"

Wordlessly, Hawke shoved the missive at her and stood up. "Aveline's got a job for us. I'm going to fetch the others. We'll meet you outside the Chantry in an hour."

"Er…all right."

Bethany reached the end of the letter and grinned. No wonder her sister had her smallclothes in a twist- she  _hated_  these things.

* * *

A morning of fighting raiders on the coast put Hawke in a slightly better mood but she was still snappy and irritable. Bethany kept smirking at her which made things even  _worse_  and the rest of her companions were staying as far away from her as possible. She kicked at a boulder viciously and howled in irritation at the sudden pain in her toe.

" _Anders!"_  

"Wha-!" The mage flinched at her sudden attention. "Um. Yes Hawke?"

"Stubbed my toe. Get over here."

Anders cast a pleading glance in the direction of the little huddle of companions eyeing her warily. As one they shrugged, Varric eventually prodding him forward with the business end of Bianca. He sighed and approached Hawke reluctantly.

"Purposefully, mind. A little pointless, don't you think? Taking your anger out on an inanimate object?" drawled a voice tinged with amusement and disdain. Hawke rounded on the tall elf standing slightly apart from the others and hopped towards him threateningly. Anders scuttled after her.

"I'm fairly sure you direct your foul moods at inanimate objects all the time. Remember that glowy thing in the cavern?"

"A creature borne of filthy magic-"

"It was a _firefly._ "

"It was uncommonly large. However it was animate which renders your previous comment-"

"...andI don't believe I _asked_ for your opinion!"

"My opinions are freely given," snapped Fenris, ignoring the resulting 'ooOOoohh!' which came from Isabela's direction. "Especially when your state of mind is affecting our performance. Your blades have been undisciplined today and you nearly threw me off a cliff earlier in your eagerness to maim one of the raiders. I do not appreciate being shoved."

 _By someone like **you** is what you didn't say_   thought Hawke darkly. 'll _shove you off a cliff right now, elf_.  _See if you bounce all the way down._  

She eyed Fenris. Of all her companions he was the one she got on with least, even when she was in a good mood. He was sullen, taciturn and so…so  _snooty._ She hated him looking down his nose at her, berating her over her sympathy for mages, her tolerance of magic. Her _sister_  was a mage for goodness' sake. Was she supposed to just overlook how they were treated? She'd even caught him frowning at her attire once. Too _**peasant**  _for him?Stupid, poncy elf! So  _what_  if he'd escaped a life of slavery and abuse? Did he want a medal? He could make something of himself, be happy - her mind tried to paint a picture of a smiling Fenris, surrounded by kittens and butterflies, and promptly folded in on itself - _but no_ , she rallied. All he did was wallow in self-pity, whinge about the smell of the harbour and denounce all non-Tevinter wines as being inferior. An ex-slave! What gave him the right to be so superior- _?_

Anders finally got a hold of her foot which sent her crashing to the ground, swearing. He squeaked in fright, healed her quickly and shot back to the safety of the huddle which drew together more tightly. Hawke stayed where she was for a few moments, grinding her teeth and thinking of a million places a mage's staff could be rammed when a hand appeared in her field of vision. She took it grumpily, pulled herself up and fought down the sudden urge to punch the smirking elf on his perfect nose.

"What  _is_ the matter, Hawke?" ventured Aveline. "You really haven't been yourself all day."

"She got a letter this morning from the Viscount's son" said Bethany. "He's invited her as his guest to his birthday celebrations"

"But that's wonderful!" trilled Merrill, not noticing Bethany sidle behind her with a grimace. "There'll be music, dancing, oh I  _love_ balls!"

There was a short pause.

"You love balls, do you Merrill?" said Hawke slowly.

"I do!"

"Involving lots of people?" added Isabela slyly.

"Oh  _yes._ "

Hawke sniggered suddenly, breaking the tension. The group relaxed, Merrill looking perplexed at the change in atmosphere. Varric patted the elf girl gently on the arm.

"Why are you so tied up in knots about it then, Champion?" he asked curiously. "Are you afraid Saemus harbours naughty intentions towards you?"

Hawke flushed. " _No._  He's…you know, nice enough…" she sighed. "I just hate the whole  _ballness_  of it – shut up, Isabela! - the conversation, the dancing, the damn  _clothes._ I'm a simple girl from Lothering-"

"She means," supplied Bethany. "She's an oaf in polite company, she's got two left feet and other than her birthing robe has never worn a dress in her life."

Hawke glared at her. "Expect all your robes to be in tatters tomorrow, sister."

"Hah! You'll have no  _eyebrows-_ "

"Quiet!" Varric held up a hand and they subsided, muttering. "Seems to me, Hawke, all you need is a little tutoring and you'll be fine. It'll be good for you to attend this sort of thing, raises your profile. Besides there's no harm in getting one of the gentry on your side."

"Or on your front, back-"

"Shut  _up,_ Isabela!" howled Hawke. She looked at Varric thoughtfully. "Might get some work out of it, I suppose. I don't fancy making a fool of myself in front of all those Lords and Ladies though. You're nobility, Varric, you can teach me how to talk to these people, do the dancey thing- "

"Nuh-uh. Sorry, Champion, I'm  _dwarven_  nobility. Not the same here. Dwarven balls mainly consist of drinking, singing songs about gold and throwing your tankard at whoever you want to take home at the end of the evening."

"Hawke's usual nights at the Hanged Man then" muttered Anders in an undertone to Aveline who coughed and bit back a smile.

Hawke eyed them suspiciously before turning back to the dwarf who had schooled his expression into one of helpful innocence. "So what do you suggest?"

Varric rubbed his hands together and gestured expansively. "Now  _Fenris_  here," he grinned as the elf stiffened, expression darkening, "was the employee of-"

"You mean  _slave-"_

"- let's not quibble terms now, lad. Was the employee of one of the foremost Magisters in Tevinter. Isn't that right?"

"Yes." Fenris scowled. "I can see where this is going and I-"

"-would be very interested in helping Hawke form, let's say,  _attachments_  which may potentially bring us more work. Yes? Who knows," he continued, winking at her and ignoring Fenris' thunderous expression, "Saemus may even decide to give her a little, er, _work_  himself and we could all do with connections in the Kirkwall gentry."

Hawke bristled. "And what makes you think I have any interest in Qun Boy?"

"He's hot!" said Isabela, grinning. "And he's interested. What else do you need to know?"

"Yes. Well. I like a little more information than that generally. Besides," she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, ignoring Anders' frantic coughing. "He'll lose interest very quickly after he sees me dancing."

"And this is where our esteemed elven friend comes in" said Varric smoothly. "So, Fenris. A few nights' work for a potentially huge reward. Could be enough for you to, say, set up somewhere else? Away from all of this?"

"I daresay."

Hawke tapped her foot impatiently, waving away imaginary kittens and butterflies. "And what would  _he_ know about ball- evenings involving dancing and conversation?" She folded her arms at Fenris' glower.

" _He_ attended events with his master both at home and abroad.  _He_ was taught court etiquette in order to converse with foreign dignitaries whilst his master was socialising.  _He_ was sometimes called upon to dance when partners were scarce."

"Really?  _He_  possesses the ability to have entire conversations?"

Fenris' face darkened. "If you would prefer to attend this event and be seen as the clod you are, do,  _please_ , be my guest." He advanced on her. "Even given a year's worth of tutoring I cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's- "

" _Did you just liken me to a farmyard animal?"_

"Now, now," said Varric hastily. "Be reasonable, both of you. Hawke, put those away…"

"We need the money" piped up Merrill. They all looked at her. "You know we do. Can you two just  _try_   to get on for a few days? For us?"

There was a pause, punctuated by two sets of teeth grinding.

"Fine." Hawke spun on her heel and marched in the direction of Kirkwall. "I'll meet you later at your mansion," she tossed over her shoulder. "After you clear the bodies away there'll be plenty of space for us to practice in."

" _Fine._ " Fenris stalked after her, fists clenched.

No-one moved for several moments and then Varric shrugged. "Best case scenario, Hawke performs and we all get paid. Worst case scenario, one or both of them ends up skewered by the other."

Isabela smirked. "This could be interesting."

"Frightening, you mean," shuddered Anders. "What's the betting I'll get one of them turning up needing healing within the next few days?"

"I'll take that bet" said Varric clapping him on the shoulder.

"I'm in too" added Aveline.

Isabela nodded and they started back to Kirkwall at a slower pace than the departing two, an unspoken consent between them not to catch up with either of them any time soon. Merrill remained pensive, twisting her hands worriedly.

"I do hope Hawke doesn't get hurt," she whispered. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned how much I like balls…"

 


	2. Talking Proper

Fenris slammed the door to the mansion behind him. Turning, he opened it and slammed it shut again, harder.  _Damnable woman!_  Growling, he stormed through the lower floor looking for something to smash. Grabbing a painting of a smug human woman with ridiculously exaggerated assets he drove a mailed fist straight into them, smiling at the shatter of glass.  _Better._ Spinning, he stuck his foot through another nearby painting, one of a dog wearing a comical hat and an bemused expression before, foot tangling in the frame, promptly falling over backwards. He contemplated the vaulted ceiling for a moment before banging his head a few times against the wooden floor for good measure.

He was being childish, he knew it. That thrice damned woman seemed to bring it out in him. When he'd first met her he'd found her beautiful. Still did, if he was honest with himself. Her early, forward attempts at flirtation had been refreshingly charming, if a little aggressive, but now every time she opened her mouth her voice set his teeth on edge. It was not as if she had an unpleasant voice. On the contrary, it was low and musical…but the way she  _spoke_. He winced at the thought. She was brash, brusque and too often brutally honest. If there was a connection between her brain and her mouth he could not see it and she more often than not acted before she thought. Most Tevinter women, those who weren't disgusting, ambitious blood mages, were charming and graceful, trained in all aspects of the social niceties. He had admired a few whilst in Danarius' service as he would fine wines or works of art. He eyed the remains of the paintings scattered around him.  _Fragile as they are._

She was most definitely  _not_  fragile. She was wiry, mannish to the point of choosing to dress like one and more likely to start a fight than run from one. She'd been picking fights with him from the first day he'd met her. She knew his feelings - they were _not_ prejudices! - towards magic and mages and yet she _still_ insisted on involving him in jobs which more often than not required them to fight their corner. Having to spend time with the disturbing apostate who threw her covert, adoring glances was bad enough but then to watch her speak kindly to him, throw a companionable arm around him… _that…that_ _ **abomination!...**_ made his stomach twist in on itself. She never deigned to touch him so familiarly he was glad of it. Anders' need for constant reassurance simply proved his weakness - he himself had no need of her attentions, affection was easy to exploit. 

 _I have no wish to be petted like a dog, **especially** by her_.

He wondered if any of it was deliberate, gestures solely designed to provoke him, and decided sulkily that it was. He'd long ago learned to school his features into a sardonic mask and he had learned quickly upon meeting her that she found his impassivity annoying enough try and get a rise out of him as often as possible. As a result they were unable to converse for more than a handful of minutes without flying at each other's throats. 

_I daresay a couple of weeks' enforced company will lead to significant headaches for the both of us if not actual bloodshed._

Sighing, he sat up slowly. His foul mood was only due in part to Hawke anyway. He'd been talked, no,  _bullied_ into this lyrium-touched plan. Even Varric's smooth persuasive manner had done little to mask the underlying command and, oh, how he  _hated_  being ordered to do anything. He'd  _earned_ his freedom and subsequently anyone telling him what to do made him bristle like an angry cat. The only reason he was still stuck in this piss-hole of a city was the faint chance that Danarius might return so that they could finally end this pointless farce. And for that he needed the help of Hawke and her motley band of companions.

He made a noise of exasperation and stood, brushing glass off his feet. Still, if the plan worked he'd have gold enough to buy a band of mercenaries, effectively removing the need for any continued association with the bullish Ferelden woman.

_Reason enough._

He wandered into the foyer of the mansion eyeing the crumpled body at the foot of the stairs. In the months he had been living in Danarius' old place it had not even begun to decompose, blood magic he supposed. Out of the smeared windows he could see the sky darkening. Hawke would be arriving soon.

He was unable to stop himself arranging the body so it appeared to be making an obscene gesture at any who entered before he went to clean up.

* * *

Hawke threw open the door of the mansion and stomped into the foyer. She relaxed slightly on realising Fenris was nowhere in sight and frowned at the body sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. Drawing closer she gave a surprised snort of laughter at its position. 

_Ornery elf. Maybe he does have a sense of humour after all._

Fenris looked up as she entered the drawing room. "Good evening, Hawke." He gestured to a chair and frowned slightly as she plonked herself into it gracelessly, legs splayed. He met her challenging gaze and bit the inside of his cheek. 

_Calm. This will be more bearable if you remain calm._

"I thought tonight we would start by working on your diction."

"My - ?"

"The manner in which you speak."

"I  _know_ what diction means, you condescending - "  _Rein it in, Hawke. You can do this._ "I  _mean"_ she amended carefully _"_ what's wrong with the way I speak?"

 _What's right with it?_ he swallowed the automatic barb with f.difficulty. "I'm merely pointing out that on formal occasions, new acquaintances will expect civil conversation, generally on trifling matters, and polite interest at the very least." He looked down. "The Viscount's son himself will be eager to learn more about you and polite enquiry should be met with charm and tact."

"Are you suggesting I am incapable of these things?" She felt her fists clench and promptly sat on her hands, taking a deep breath.

"I have no idea what you are capable of. I am here so you may practice. Let us begin. I will be…a friend of Saemus'. Stand, please." She rose warily and they moved to the centre of the room. "We are meeting for the first time" he said, and, taking a step towards her, bowed and took her hand. She flinched slightly and watched him in amazement as he brushed his lips over her knuckles. "My name is Fenris, may I have the pleasure of knowing yours?" He peered up at her through his hair. His eyes were startlingly green in the firelight.

She swallowed, threw an awkward curtsey and wobbled slightly, mouth tightening as she saw his lips quirk in amusement. "Hawke. Nice to meet you."

He straightened. "The correct greeting is 'how do you do, Ser,' and you cannot introduce yourself as  _Hawke_. You must use your given name." His brow creased.  _And I have no idea what that is._

"It's  _Marian_. Before you say it, I hate it so I never use it."

"Marian _"_  he rolled the name around his mouth thoughtfully. " _Marian._ "

"Yes? What of it?"

"It's just…" he looked vaguely perplexed. "You don't strike me as being a Marian…"

_I'll strike you any minute, Ser, see if I don't._

"And what exactly is a Marian  _supposed_ to look like? Fat old fishwife? Poncy powdered lady? Painted whore?" snapped Hawke. She saw him wince slightly at her language and her temper flared as he dropped her hand quickly. "What sort of a name is  _Fenris_  anyway?"

His face darkened immediately. "Fenris is  _not_ my name. Fenris is what my master called me." He turned away, grabbing a bottle from the desk. Hawke watched him take a large mouthful. After a pause he offered it to her. She took a swig and raised her eyebrows.

"Expected it to be saltier."

"I'm…sorry?" He looked confused.

"What with being made of the blood and tears of Tevinter slaves and all."

He gave a bark of laughter as she handed him the bottle. She relaxed and settled back in the chair.

"So…what  _is_  your name?" He eyed her balefully, taking another mouthful.

"I do not know."

"Why not?"

He slammed the bottle down. "This is irrelevant. We have discussed introductions, you can choose either to dismiss my advice or act on it."

 _Bloody grumpy elf, it was an honest enquiry._ " _Fine._  Whatever. What's next?"

"Women at court must be more inclined to listen than speak. Another matter I suggest you think on. You are too eager to give your opinions and often – "

She bristled. "So you're saying my opinions are not worth hearing?"

"And often you  _interrupt._  This may be construed as extreme rudeness. I am not saying this should be so but the gentry imagine what they have to say is always of great import and dislike it when you cut them off. Listen, nod and add a polite comment every now and again. If you cannot think of one simply make approving noises. Saemus especially will appreciate that." Hawke frowned at him. "You wish to gain his approval? Let him talk and you will. If you  _must_ speak, count to three first, do not simply blurt out the first thing that comes into your head."

Hawke opened her mouth angrily but caught his eye and shut it again.  _Patronising bastard. He has a point though._ She let out a breath. "Yes. Mother always says I should think before I speak. It's just that sometimes I can't help myself." She gazed into the fire, eyes unfocused. He tilted his head slightly, unused to seeing her so unguarded.

"I just…react. I guess I've gotten worse since leaving Lothering. We…lost people because I was too slow." She frowned in mild surprise. _Must've taken a bigger mouthful of wine than I thought._

"If you react without thinking – "

"If I stop to think I'll  _remember_ …" she said softly, shaking her head and straightening.

"Maker's  _breath_ , woman, you interrupted me again!" The words were out before he could stop them even as his mind re-spooled her last comment, almost too quiet to hear. He regarded her suddenly hostile expression and decided against pressing the issue, annoyed with himself.  _And there we managed not to snap at each for thirty seconds._

Hawke's jaw worked. "Anything  _else_?"

Fenris paused, groping for the most tactful approach. "Perhaps you may wish to practice more formal speech."

She ground her teeth. "Not tonight I don't. My mother has a book, I'll bring it over. She used to be big on getting us all to speak properly. I was never that interested though. Better things to do. It has practice conversations."

Fenris stiffened. "I need no  _book_  – "

"Well I do. It's late, I'm tired, I'm going." She stood up and headed for the door, pausing at the archway. With a visible effort she turned and inclined her head slightly. "I thank you for your instruction, Ser. I bid you goodnight." With that, she was gone.

 _What's a Lothering peasant doing with a book on formal speech?_ He growled low in his throat. She would think even less of him if he revealed his little handicap. He grabbed the bottle again and took a long swig, closing his eyes. Her expression as she had gazed, unseeing, into the flames rose in his mind. She had looked so  _sad._ He grunted. A trick of the light, nothing more.

There was a soft thump from the floor below and moments later he heard the front door slam shut. Padding downstairs he found the body rearranged in such a manner that it appeared to be pointing at its own arse. He sighed and went back to the drawing room.

* * *

Hawke, Bethany, Merrill and Aveline ambled slowly through the Hightown marketplace.

"They're late" said Hawke, yawning suddenly. "Maker knows where Isabela is, personally I'd rather not know."

Bethany yawned in sympathy. "You were up late last night reading that old book of Mother's." She nudged Aveline. "I even caught her curtseying to the mabari. Learn anything new?" She giggled as Hawke scowled at her.

"Nothing I didn't already know. Or care about." She pursed her lips. "Still, I said I'd practise. Every little helps, as they say." She fluttered a hand and curtseyed neatly. "My Lady…"

"So the first lesson went well, did it?" Aveline raised an eyebrow. "You're  _practising_ for him?"

"I'm practising for  _me_. It went…all right. He's still a patronising, uptight arsehole but we managed not to savage each other too much. Incidentally," she cocked her head. "Did you know his name isn't actually Fenris? He doesn't know what it is. Wouldn't tell me why but it's odd, yes?"

"Ooh, what do you think it is?" said Merrill excitedly. "It could be Simon…or…or  _Bernard_."

"I don't think it's Bernard." Hawke grinned at the thought.  _Bernard the mighty elf warrior._

"Why not?"

"He just…doesn't strike me as a…oh, here they are." Fenris, Anders and Varric approached. Hawke nodded at them before Anders touched her arm gently. "You look tired, Hawke. Everything all right?"

"She was up late reading a book on talking proper" said Bethany, grinning. "She's really getting into this. It's ancient and fusty _,_ you'll love it Fenris."

"I have no interest in peasant literature" he muttered darkly, covering his sudden discomfort with a scowl. Hawke clenched her fists. Aveline, looking at her sidelong, could have sworn she was counting under her breath.

"We're not peasants!" exclaimed Bethany indignantly. "Mother came from a very well to do family here in Kirkwall. She eloped with a mage when she was younger but our name is still known and we  _will_  regain our family home. Hopefully when my sister manages to…to make herself known to the gentry."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "My apologies. Your breeding was not immediately clear to me."

Hawke took a step towards him. "One more word out of you,  _wolfie_ , and you'll lose whatever assets you prized up until now. And I'm not talking about your oversized phallic symbol."

Fenris advanced on her slowly. "Sword envy, perhaps? Seems like you should have been a brother rather than a sister to Bethany. Perhaps in truth you  _are_ _._ "

There was a sudden, awful silence.

Fenris saw Bethany's stricken expression and stiffened as Hawke took several quick steps towards him, her hands on her blades.

"Don't you  _ever –_ " His markings flared reflexively but he froze in surprise when he noticed the sudden quaver in her voice and the wet shine of her eyes. She whirled, taking Bethany's arm and tugging her away. He watched the two leave for long moments before turning to the others who were eyeing him with varying expressions of disgust.

"Hawke lost a brother whilst fleeing Lothering," said Aveline quietly. "And Bethany a twin,

"I…did not know."  _Not a trick of the light, you fool._

Anders glowered at him. "You know very little about any of us," he said flatly. "Because you've never bothered to ask."

Varric eyed him coldly. "If you ever wish to leave this place, Broody, you'll go apologise. Because right now, she's your best ticket out of here."

"Is that an  _order_?"

"A request, Fenris. Only that."

They left him standing indecisively in the busy marketplace, Anders taking care to bump him on the way past. Merrill stopped and eyed him, lips pursed.

"You know," she said slowly "I can stop blood going to places it needs to go to. I can make things drop off with my  _brain_. Don't you go upsetting her again." She stalked off.

Fenris sighed. To his chagrin he was a little ashamed of his behaviour. Having no idea wasn't really an excuse. He needed a drink and clearly no work was going to get done today anyway. He started back to the mansion, his expression dark enough to send people scrambling to get out of his way.

 


	3. Roleplay

Fenris awoke with a start, head pounding. He moaned softly and grimaced, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth.  _Drinking early is always a terrible idea_. He wondered how long he'd been insensible, the warm light from the windows suggested late afternoon. He took a deep breath and rose shakily, heading for the bowl of water in the corner of the room. Bottles scattered and rolled, the noise sending fresh waves of pain through his head and a roll of nausea through his stomach.  _How many of these did I drink today?_

He had vague memories of storming back to the mansion and grabbing wine from the cellar before wandering the rooms trying to ignore the burning sensation over his skin which always seemed to accompany a dark mood. After that things were a little fuzzy. He groaned.  _I do not feel well._ He splashed some water on his face, and, staggering slightly sat back heavily in the dusty armchair. He doubted Hawke would come tonight, not after their little exchange that morning. He leaned back, closing his eyes.  _Probably for the best._

* * *

Something large and heavy crashed through the glassware onto the table in front of him waking him again with a start. Blearily he realised a thick, leather-bound book sat before him and looked up to find Hawke standing over him, arms folded.

"Are you well?"

He rubbed his face. "I am…fine. Merely a headache."

"Bit early isn't it? Perhaps you shouldn't drink so much."

"When and how much I drink is none of your business. Besides, I do not drink to excess." Hawke raised an eyebrow and snorted rudely.

"I arrived earlier to find you sitting beside your friend the  _corpse_  downstairs, clutching a bottle and muttering nonsensically. Thought I'd give you two some time alone." She eyed him. "Why'd you get so drunk?"

He rubbed his eyes.  _Because I was annoyed? Ashamed? "_ Because I can. It takes the edge off – " He stopped abruptly, glancing up. Hawke's face was still but her eyes glittered. After a pause she nodded sharply and set a small vial down in front of him.

"For your headache _._ We have work to do."

He drank the potion without comment and watched whilst Hawke fell into the chair across from him and crossed her arms expectantly. He eyed her warily. He'd expected their next meeting to be more… _confrontational._  Instead her face was carefully blank except for a hint of challenge in her eyes. He was suddenly discomfited by her lack of expression and the heavy silence in the room.

"Are  _you_ well, Hawke?" He said and cursed the sudden hesitancy in his voice. She nodded again, expression neutral. Fenris shifted uncomfortably. He was beginning to see why she found his practised mask disconcerting. He fought down the sudden urge to provoke a reaction,  _any_ reaction out of her.

"Shall we begin?" Hawke gestured towards the book. "As I mentioned before there are practice conversational topics in there. Try page 2197."

Fenris searched her face for any signs of mockery. "No." He saw her jaw tighten and relaxed slightly. Any indication of her current mood was better than none. At least he could prepare for personal injury knowing he was beginning to irritate her. She tapped her teeth with an index finger. "And why is that?"

He lifted his chin. "I am unsure of your Ferelden customs but in Tevinter they do not teach slaves to read."

"I see." Her finger rose and fell a few times on the arm of her chair. "Would you like to learn?"

He sighed impatiently. "I'm fairly sure the time we have allotted to us would be better spent with you learning new skills rather than me."

"I  _have_ skills you bloody – " Hawke closed her mouth with a snap and smoothed her face, brushing her tunic once, twice… _ah._ "Alright, let's do this a different way." She rose quickly and lifted the book sending more bottles crashing to the floor. "So. I'll have to be the one initiating polite conversation, you can supply the answers that I would be expected to give."

Fenris blinked. "Supply your…so I'm to be the  _woman_?"

She smiled at him coldly. "Well you're the only one I know who drinks poncy wine and complains constantly so I'd say you're more than appropriate for the role." She shot him a look as he opened his mouth crossly. "Before you object you've got just as much to gain from this as the rest of us, perhaps more. With the money you could leave for good and set up somewhere new. Maybe even buy yourself a friendly assassin to help you find and finish off that old master of yours. You'd be free and away from here and  _us_ , something you're always harping on about, so enough of the pouting. Let's get on with this."

He looked away, pressing his lips together in irritation for a moment before gesturing sharply at her to begin. She thumped the now open book back down onto the table with a crash and scraped her chair forward loudly watching him wince and pinch the bridge of his nose with some satisfaction.

"Right." She faced him, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head back so she was glaring at him down the length of her nose. "Good evening, Milady." Her voice was pitched ridiculously low. "I trust you are having a fine evening. Do you find the wine to your taste or is it a mite sweet for you?" She finished off by inspecting the soles of her feet, straightening with an exaggerated scowl.

"If you are going to mock me – "

"Mock you, my  _lady_? Surely you cannot think so poorly of me. I am the very embodiment of propriety, tact and honour."

"If you are referring to – "

"What think you of the food here? Are you partial to the fish?"

Fenris rose suddenly. "I thank you for your interest, Ser, especially as my attire appears to be causing much amusement this evening. Some of the guests here seem to believe I have never worn a dress before tonight."

"A peculiar notion. I have been asked several times whether I provide special services at the Blooming Rose. Perhaps my attire causes confusion also."

Fenris' lips thinned. "Do excuse me, I find I am having trouble understanding some of the longer words in this conversation. Would you mind speaking more plainly?"

Hawke glared up at him, eyes narrowed. "My apologies, Serah. Let me have one of my my servants deliver to you a dictionary so you may expand your vocabulary through extensive reading. In fact they may even read the simpler words to you if you ask nicely. You will find them polite and devoid of ambitions that extend beyond their station in life. Do you not find it irksome when slav - , excuse me,  _servants_  get above themselves?"

Fenris circled her. "I am most grateful for your offer,  _Ser_ , but fear I must politely decline. Much of my day is spent striding about looking for excuses to be violent. I have little time for reading or personal improvement, as I'm sure you will have noticed."

Hawke shot to her feet, moving closer. "A shame. I myself prefer to skulk in darkened rooms, drinking and brooding on trifling matters. If I am sure I am not to be disturbed for a short while, I polish my sword. There is but little to clean, however, and it never takes long. The remainder of my day I wait for someone to come and take me out and tell me what to do next -"

" _No-one_ tells me what to do – "

"- and then I can spend  _hours_ complaining about my terrible, awful past – "

Fenris took two short angry strides and glared down at her. "You persist in your mockery of matters you do not understand!"

"On the contrary, I understand very well. I simply do not _care._ " Hawke took a breath, suddenly aware their faces were inches apart. Fenris was breathing heavily, a faint flush on his cheeks.  _Tap, tap, tap._  He looked down at her foot and back up, fists unclenching.

"Perhaps" she said slowly "we should attempt a different conversational topic." His eyes moved over her face, dropping to her lips briefly before he turned away from her.

"Your grasp of formal language appears to be satisfactory. Surprisingly so." Hawke bit her lip, nails digging into her palms. "I am fairly certain there is no more I can teach you in that regard" he said softly. "I am sure you will modify your… _manner_  naturally depending on whom you encounter. I fear I am not the best choice for you to engage in polite conversation with."

Hawke sighed inwardly.  _You shouldn't have let him wind you up._ In truth she hadn't completely forgiven him for his hurtful jibe earlier, despite his not knowing of her family's loss. She had gone home with Bethany only to get involved in a huge fight with her mother about Carver and to be unceremoniously ejected from the house. Seething, she'd arrived at Danarius' mansion mid-afternoon all set to tell Fenris that they were ceasing these ridiculous sessions, that she'd manage somehow on her own. She'd expected him to agree, possibly not bothering to hide his relief, after which they'd exchange angry words as usual and things would have gone on as before. Instead she'd found him sitting at the bottom of the stairs, blind drunk, mumbling to that blasted corpse. She'd looked at the corpse and then back at him, slightly thrown by the scene before her. He'd not noticed her so she'd left quickly, annoyed and confused.

_I shouldn't have come. I arrived looking for an excuse to fight. Behaving like this isn't going to make things any easier. Something has to change whether this continues or not._ She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

"I didn't mean that. What I said earlier. I don't know…much about your past." He said nothing but she saw his head tilt in surprise. "I won't mention it again."

He turned slightly, firelight haloing his hair and outlining the planes of his profile. "For what it's worth I'm...sorry about your brother."

"I know."

Brows lowered in confusion he turned to face her properly. "Your meaning?" His expression became progressively more perplexed as she quirked an eyebrow and pointed downwards with one finger. "I think that's enough for one night, Fenris. I'll see you tomorrow."

After she had gone he headed downstairs, noting with surprise that at some point during the day he had arranged the corpse with head bowed and a hand across its eyes as if in shame.

* * *

Hawke ambled slowly through Darktown. She noticed a small band of scruffy looking men standing at the entrance to an alley and smiled grimly to herself as they sidled away nervously. Her reputation was spreading amongst the gangs of Kirkwall.  _Not one to be messed with._  She arrived at Anders' clinic and rapped sharply on the door. It was late but he was likely up and about - the man never seemed to sleep. Perhaps he didn't need to any more with the permanent guest in his head. The door opened a fraction and a suspicious eye appeared.

"It's me."

Anders smiled at her. "Who else would it be dropping in past midnight? Come in, Isabela's here for her usual treatment." Hawke grimaced and wrinkled her nose at him as he shrugged and let her past.  _I'm amazed she hasn't got bits dropping off her by now the amount of unpleasant diseases she seems to pick up._

"Ah, darling Hawke. How goes things with our angry but delectable Fenris?" Isabela was sprawled comfortably on the examination table. She patted the space next to her with a grin. "Any injuries to report, minor or otherwise? Stab wounds? Bruising? Intimate chafing?"

"Only these." Hawke opened her hands to show a row of deep crescent shaped marks across her palms.

"Oh  _Hawke."_ Anders bustled over to his desk, grabbing a small pot of salve from a drawer. He flapped Isabela impatiently out of the way and sat down next to her, taking her hands gently.

"Do those count?" Asked Isabela, ignoring Hawke's suspicious glare. "Um. No." Anders busied himself, looking a little pink.

"What are you two talking ab – "

"Hawke, you must find other ways of controlling your temper. Or at least cut your nails, these are very deep." He smoothed the salve gently over one palm. "Are you sure you're actually getting anything out of this besides self-mutilation?"

"I've picked up one or two things. Unlike Isabela who's picked up  _loads_."

"Ha!" The pirate smirked at her. "Good one. Word of advice, avoid the broad shouldered whore with the fused fingers. Those fingers in  _no_ way make up for – "

"I'll bear that in mind. Ugh, I don't  _know,_ " Hawke scuffed the floor in frustration. "He's  _infuriating_. We just don't seem to be able to talk normally for more than five minutes before we start yelling at each other. He makes things really hard - "

"Well it  _is_  cold in his mansion…"

"Oh shut up, Isabela. I mean he's so prickly and stand-offish…it drives me mad! Still, tonight was a bit better by the end. Let's not mention the middle. I think we reached a sort of truce - for the time being, anyway."

Isabela propped herself against the wall. "Not everyone is as open and friendly as the rest of us."

"I've met no-one friendlier or as open as you, I have to say" said Hawke, grinning at Isabela's outright laugh. Anders huffed quietly in amusement, studying her profile. He turned his attention to her other palm quickly as she glanced at him.

Isabela studied the two for a moment and pursed her lips. "Well I'm off. The night is still young and so is that pretty elf in the Blooming Rose." She sashayed across the room. "Later."

"Honestly," said Hawke, shaking her head "I'm no prude but that woman really upsets me sometimes. Where does she find the energy?" She turned to Anders, smile fading slightly at his solemn expression. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…this plan. I don't think you should have to do anything to…you know," he looked away uncomfortably " _persuade_  Saemus to find us work. Or get into a relationship you don't…want."

She bumped him with her shoulder. "I'm not going to whore myself out, if that's what you mean. I'd make more money at the Blooming Rose if I had a mind to. He's nice, we'll see what happens. If I don't send him running screaming from me in the first five minutes."

"No sane man would even consider that." He reluctantly let go of her hands. "And don't even get me started on you having to spend time with that maniac."

"Humph. We're both maniacs if you look at us closely enough. We're too, what's the word, combative,  _combustible,_ something beginning with comb, anyway. Always striking sparks off each other. I'm just as bad as he is."

"You're nothing like him! You're honourable…and…and kind. You don't hate mages."

"Neither does he. Not really. I don't think so anyway. He blames them for his…marking thingies but it's magic he really dislikes. He certainly doesn't trust mages but the amount of blood magic we've seen around here lately I suppose that's understandable. You and Bethany are just going to have to prove him wrong" she smiled wearily. "No pressure."

Anders eyed her suspiciously. "You've changed your tune a bit"

She sighed. "Just tired of fighting with him." She stood up slowly. "It's late, I'll let you rest. Thanks for fixing me up."

"You're welcome." Sitting alone on his exam table he watched her leave, a look of longing on his face.  _I hate this plan_ he thought miserably.  _What if I lose her to a Viscount's son? Or worse, to that arrogant…no, she would never..! He's contemptible._ Still, he couldn't shake the growing feeling of dread at the thought of Hawke and Fenris continuing to spend time together alone.

TBC

 


	4. Sparring Partners

"Hawke?"

"Nngh."

" _Hawke?_ "

Hawke rolled onto her uninjured side, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"I'm fine, Aveline. Just…give me a minute." She gasped and pulled at the tatters which were all that remained of the left side of her leather jerkin.

Anders was beside her in an instant. "Let me see."

She sat up slowly, gritting her teeth. "Stop  _fussing,_ all of you. There's nothing you can do to help anyway. Did we get him?"

Aveline prodded the slightly steaming corpse of the abomination with her foot. "Looks like it. I'm heartily sick of mages at the moment, I tell you. Why can't they ever come along quietly?"

"I'm not sure blood mages know how.  _Normal_ mages, when treated like human beings, may well do." Anders replied stiffly. He eyed Hawke, concern evident in his face. "At least let me give you something for the pain."

Hawke waved him away impatiently. "I'll take something when I get home. Let's just move this shipment before anything else large and ugly comes to claim it." She stood up gingerly, hissing softly. " _Maker_  this hurts. How can you lot drink this stuff and live?"

Anders shrugged. "It's an acquired taste." He carefully wound one of her arms around his neck and motioned Varric to take the other. "Let's get you home. Your sister's going to skin us for this and I shudder to think what your mother might follow that up with."

"My fault" said Hawke, biting her lip. "I wasn't paying attention and then wasn't quick enough on my feet. Ow! What are you  _doing,_ Isabela?"

"Any excuse to get your clothes off" murmured Isabela. "Ooh. I'm not sure that's supposed to be that colour…"

" _Do you mind?"_ Hawke pulled her tunic down quickly noticing that both Anders and Varric had suddenly found the cavern ceiling amazingly interesting. "Just  _leave it._  Come on, I've got places to be."

"More lessons?" said Anders sharply. "I don't think it's a good idea tonight. Not with your injury. Please, just rest -"

"That blasted ball thing is a  _week_ away, Anders! I still have no idea about any of the dances and the polite conversation thing is very much a work in progress. Or possibly reverse depending on tall, white and sulky's mood. I can't  _afford_  to miss an evening. I'll just have to request that tonight's lesson covers something that doesn't involve moving around much. Or moving at all."

"Got to hand it to her," said Varric admiringly. "Our Champion's a tough girl."

"Bloody idiot if you ask me" muttered Anders under his breath. He yelped as Hawke's boot heel came down squarely on his foot.

* * *

After a brief stop-off to change, Hawke made her way carefully to Fenris' mansion. She pushed open the front door gingerly and eyed the corpse suspiciously. He appeared to be lounging on his elbows at the bottom of the stairs in a position suggesting polite attention.

"You're late."

She started violently at the unexpected voice and caught sight of a figure moving in the gloom of the foyer. Her daggers were out before she realised the figure was that of Fenris leaning against the desk at the back of the room. The elf raised an amused eyebrow before pushing off and moving towards her.

"A little jumpy this evening, aren't we?"

Hawke sheathed her daggers crossly. "Pays to be in our line of work. Why are you lurking down here in the dark?"

"One moment." She watched him pad about the room lighting torches on the walls until they were bathed in a friendly orange glow. "We need the space in this room and the torches will only last a few hours. I thought tonight we could make a start on the dances you can expect to participate in."

Hawke cringed inwardly.  _Oh no, I hurt too much for any such thing._ "Could we perhaps do that another evening? I thought maybe I could ask you about…" she groped around desperately for a topic. "Er…er…women's fashions. You know, what shoes I should wear, those bits that stick up – are they _really_  necessary...? Maybe the proper use of fans…" She fumbled to a halt at his amazed expression. "Um."

"And you believe I would know  _anything_ useful about these things?" He folded his arms and regarded her thoughtfully. "You are trying to avoid the issue."

"I'm not avoiding any…issues" she managed lamely. "Why are you looking so smug?"

"I understand you are worried about your dancing skills or lack thereof but there is no need to be embarrassed."

Hawke stiffened. "I am  _not_ embarrassed so don't patronise me! I can dance just fine. Alright, we'll do this tonight. Come on then."

"My apologies. I was given to understand your abilities were mediocre at best."

"Bethany doesn't know what she's talking about."

"I see. Let's begin." He moved towards her and bowed, extending a gauntleted hand. She looked at it as if it might bite her and then took it gracelessly. Tutting, he prised her fingers loose and changed her grip noting that if he had not had his gloves on she might have broken one or two of his fingers. "We're about to dance not wrestle each other, Hawke."

_Not much difference in my book_ she thought grimly. He moved closer and she stiffened her arms, wary of her injury. When he tried to bend them to close the few feet between their bodies she moved back a step or two in response. He sighed and gave up as he'd probably end up backing the stubborn woman around the room. They stood awkwardly, limbs stalled at five past nine.

"Are you expecting there to be a third in between you and the Viscount's boy? Rest assured I am not trying to get any closer to your person than is required within the confines of the dance. You are quite safe."

She scowled at him but relaxed her arms minutely. "I'd be more worried about  _your_  person if I were you. Plenty of space for knee movements here."

He stepped forward with exaggerated care, breathing in a sudden waft of clean laundry from her clothes.  _Unusual. I don't think I've ever seen her without her armour on._

"Much as you like to lead, the male should always initiate the first step" he said drily as she attempted an experimental turn and pulled them both off balance. He moved them back to the starting position.

"Typical."

"I refer only to the dance. I would not presume to know the rules of any other activities in which you may engage in the course of the evening" he said. She looked up at him sharply and realised he was smiling slightly. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.  _Did he just make a joke?_ After a slight pause he gently swivelled them into a turn.

"Now, an assured dancer needs grace, rhythm and restraint"

She smirked at him. "Up 'til now I've not had any complaints about my rhythm and certainly not my levels of restraint."

Fenris cocked his head. "I am sure."

Hawke eyed him. "Previous partners have said I dance very satisfactorily."

"Indeed."

"Do you dance often these days?"

Fenris stirred slightly. "Not for some time. In truth I cannot remember the last time that I did." He dimly registered that part of him was absurdly pleased at her flirting even as he cursed himself for his sudden attack of honesty.  _How strange I have the urge to talk of my past to her of all people._  He looked up on hearing her foot tapping and almost wished she would ask outright the question that was clearly on the tip of her tongue. She gazed at him for long moments, the flickering light reflecting in the yellow of her eyes. He pulled them into another turn.

"Ow."

"Should I take my boots off?"

* * *

Half an hour later he was severely regretting his decision to let her keep her boots on. Even at arm's length and moving slowly the woman clumped about like a three legged mabari. He hissed in irritation as she stomped painfully on his toes. Again. "Maker's  _breath_ , Hawke! You need to move according to my lead. At this rate the Viscount's boy will need dragonbone boots just to avoid being hobbled!"

"I  _offered_  to take my boots off, didn't I, although Maker knows what's on this floor. I don't have any dainty little dancing shoes to practise in and it's not  _my_  fault you prance about in bare feet." She glared up at him. "Speaking of armour why can't you take your gauntlets off? You're chafing my hands."

"I do not wish to. I find most direct contact…uncomfortable. You could loosen your death grip a little, it may help. Let's try again." He staggered back slightly as they both stepped forward simultaneously and she ricocheted back off his chest armour. She dropped his hands with a noise of exasperation and rubbed her nose. "This is hopeless."

"I do not understand how someone who fights so effortlessly can have such trouble following something as simple as a dance step."

"Maybe it's the  _teacher_ not the dance – " she stopped suddenly as he raised a finger. "If you don't put that down  _immediately,_ " she began dangerously.

"I have an idea." He moved around her to prop himself against the desk. "Why don't we approach this as something akin to weapons practice? A set of memorised movements prepared for certain eventualities. You may find it easier to react in this sort of context."

Hawke thought for a moment, lips pursed. "Alright."

"Show me your exercises."

Reluctantly Hawke drew her daggers. Feeling oddly exposed under Fenris' gaze she began to half-heartedly move through her daily routine, aware of his eyes following the movements of her body.

He must have sensed her discomfort. "Would you like me to provide a more tangible opponent?" She nodded briefly. "Very well." He drew his sword from his back and circled to stand in front of her, dropping into a fighting stance.

"Are you sure about this?" She said with a quick smile. "I can't promise to be gentle with you."

He cocked his head at her, eyes sparkling. "On the contrary, I'd prefer it if you weren't."

She lunged forward, blades flashing and he countered quickly, taking a few quick steps forward as she danced away from him, moving quickly to try and flank him.

"Take note of the way your footsteps retreat as mine advance. You reacted instinctively to the movement of my body, just as you should within the movements of the dance" he said, whirling suddenly and forcing her into the centre of the room. She feinted quickly and caught his sword between her daggers forcing his arms up and back. He stepped to the side at her sudden lunge and deflected her blades, backing away with a nod of admiration.

"I'm not the only one retreating" she breathed at him, smiling. And suddenly he was grinning wildly back at her as they came together, spun apart and whirled around each other, their music the clash of weapons.

"Now  _this_  sort of dance I understand" panted Hawke and he laughed as he parried her arcing blades. Hawke watched him as a wide, genuine smile lit up his face.  _He should do that more often_  she thought absently, eyes moving over his lean form as he moved back into a ready position. He pivoted and, distracted, she belatedly brought a dagger up, only managing to turn his sword slightly as his impetus carried him forward. At the last moment he pulled the blow but the flat of the blade still hit her squarely on her injured side.

Sparks exploded in front of her eyes and she collapsed with a shriek, sudden tears of pain blurring her vision. Dimly she saw him streak towards her and drop to his knees, sword clattering across the floor.

" _Hawke?_ I'm sorry, I thought you saw me turn…are you hurt? Let me see." She weakly tried to push his hands away, too breathless with agony to speak but felt him deftly lift the loose tunic she had pulled on earlier.

There was a long silence.

"I don't…this is…when did this happen _?"_

She pulled her tunic down and wiped her eyes, angling her head to meet his accusatory stare.

" _Tell me._ " He shoved her hands away angrily and pulled at the tunic again to reveal a vivid white stain across the tan of her ribs and flank.

"Get off!"

He slapped her hands away furiously. "This is a lyrium burn, Hawke. A recent one.  _When –_ "

" _Today_ , if you must know. We went after a shipment and the mage protecting it attacked us. He threw some at us as a distraction before going all  _rargh_  and I wasn't quick enough. Satisfied?"

He sat back on his haunches, an oddly wounded expression on his face as Hawke sat up.

"And you did not think to ask for my help with this?" He asked quietly. Hawke eyed him with some confusion.

"Well, no…it'll heal in time. Unless you know of any salves that may help? I know you have some experience with…er…lyrium related injuries, but I didn't want to presume. Maker, it's  _painful._ Did your markings hurt this much? Wait, no. Lyrium probably wasn't thrown at you and you must have had some magical pain relief at the very least – "

"Not the  _injury_ , you-  _"_ he roared suddenly, slapping the marble floor. "The  _shipment."_

Hawke bit the inside of her cheek to quell her sudden flare of anger. "Well, I thought for once – "

"You insist on siding with these…these  _people._ You surround yourself with apostates and sympathisers – is it any wonder you fail to see the danger they represent?" He grimaced as if he had a nasty taste in his mouth. "Why did you not call on me? Out of all your associates  _I_ am the only one who will see them for what they are, what they are capable of."

"Is that so?" said Hawke, a glint in her eye. "And what is that?"

"They are  _monsters._ " He said hoarsely. "Soulless, selfish and unpredictable. They will turn on you, every last one, and you need me with you to remind you of that! To protect you when they do -" he snapped his mouth shut and took a shuddering breath in to try and calm himself as Hawke's face tightened with rage. "My apologies. Your sister I must exempt from this."

"How magnanimous of you" Hawke spat. She rose, picking up her weapons. "I think that's enough for tonight." He clenched his fists and stepped towards her.

"Do not turn your back on me."

"I'll turn whatever I  _like_  on you" she hissed, shoving at his chest, making him take several steps backwards. "For the record, I didn't call on you because I thought things would go more easily if we weren't arguing over every single mission we do together. I thought I'd give you a rest from mages in the hope we'd get on better as a result. Now I see I shouldn't have  _bothered._ "

She headed towards the door. "And incidentally," she paused, expression hooded. "I don't need your opinions and I don't need your protection. After this is over, we're finished. Hear me?  _I don't need you_."

She gave the corpse a vicious shove on the way past, slamming the door behind her.

Fenris stayed where he was, rigid with rage, for several minutes before deflating abruptly. He re-sheathed his sword and pulled the corpse into a sitting position at the bottom of the stairs before slumping down next to it. He briefly thought about going after her but just as quickly decided against it. How would he explain that his fury was not due to her tolerance of mages but simply a result of his horror at her injury? He shook his head. No, it was more than that. He had not been there to prevent her being injured because she had not asked him to go with her. He was… _hurt_  about having been excluded from her company, reason or no. The unfamiliar feeling had left him oddly vulnerable which had then made him angrier than he had been for a long time. He put his head in his hands.  _I'm not good at this._

He'd have to find some way of making it up to her. Retrieving a bottle of wine from the cellar he went upstairs to think.

TBC.

 


	5. Of Sudden Meetings And Unexpected Gifts

Hawke stared morosely at the bottom of her third, no,  _fourth_  tankard before banging it down hard onto the table. The Hanged Man was doing a brisk trade as usual but she had managed to snag a table to herself in a quiet corner of the main floor. She signalled the barkeep who eyed her speculatively before sending over another mug of ale. Rather than going home, which would result in the inevitable and endless questions from her sister and mother about the outcome of the latest lesson she had come here, intending to drink herself insensible instead. Conversation was the last bloody thing she wanted at the moment. She pulled out her boot knife and began scratching away at the table's already heavily graffitied surface. Seeing both the knife and her expression, the barmaid put her drink down without a word and retreated hastily.

Hawke took a long swallow.  _He's right_  she thought muzzily  _it does take the edge off._  She shook her head angrily.  _Blasted elf._

He'd been creeping into her thoughts relentlessly ever since she'd stormed away from the mansion earlier that evening. A polite, bordering on pleasant (if at first toe-curlingly  _awkward_ ) lesson ruined by another pointless argument. After she'd made a serious attempt to improve the civility of their relationship as well! She slammed the knife down onto the table making the nearest patrons jump and sidle away nervously.

His expression as they had sparred kept sliding into her mind, dulling the sharp edges of her anger and annoying her even more. His smile when they had fought, intent on besting the other. It…had been…

Fierce?

Joyful?

_Real._

That was it. His face had been for once unguarded and breath-takingly transformed. She rested her forehead against the cool of the mug.  _It's actually rather impressive how quickly things went downhill from there._ She shook her head slowly in disbelief.  _He thinks I'm incapable of making sensible decisions when it comes to all things magical. He thinks I need_ _ **him**_ _to protect_ _ **me**_ _from hordes of renegade mages, from myself!_ She ground her teeth in remembered fury.  _Arrogant, patronising, tight-arsed –_

A sudden memory of him sitting back on his heels, green eyes wide and strangely vulnerable flashed through her mind.  _Real Expression Number Two._ She shifted uncomfortably.  _I'd forgotten about that one._   _Alright, disregarded it. Maybe the lyrium burn brought back some upsetting memories. Perhaps I should have –_

She straightened abruptly and banged the mug down with a noise of exasperation.  _I will not feel sorry for him! Let's not forget that Real Expression Number Two was immediately followed by default Real Expression Unbridled Fury accompanied by the usual tirade of mage-related bigotry! There was no need for him to be so angry at me_ _ **especially**_ _as I was trying to be,_ she choked slightly on her ale at the thought,  _ **nice.**_ She shook her head sharply to clear it of another memory, this time of a swiftly hidden expression of hurt as she'd shoved him away from her. It dimly occurred to her that either she was getting better at reading him or he was no longer bothering to hide his feelings from her quite so well.

_Bugger nice from now on. In fact, he can stuff his lessons right up his ar-  
_

She picked up her boot knife and was moving to stand when a slim figure plopped lightly into the chair facing her.

"Hawke! Goodness, have you drunk all of this yourself? I'd be  _dead_  if I drank this many. Or at least in a puddle of all sorts of nasty things."

Hawke rubbed her eyes and sat back down, vaguely aware she was grateful for the distraction from her circling thoughts. "Hello Merrill. Lost again?"

"Oh no" the elf said cheerfully and without a trace of irony. "I'm in the Hanged Man. Isn't it strange I can get lost anywhere in this town and find my way here, but not home? Although," She frowned. "I'm not sure how to get home from here. Varric usually shows me but he's off on a trading expedition." She brightened suddenly. "That reminds me, Varric gave me a message to give to you."

There was a pause.

"…yes?" said Hawke eventually.

Merrill was looking down at the table in alarm. "Did you draw this, Hawke?" Hawke looked at the fresh scrawl of graffiti and shrugged, reddening slightly.

"It looks like an elf with an axe in its head." She looked up, eyes wide. "It's not  _me,_ is it? He  _asked_ me, you see, so I thought it would be alright…"

Hawke scrunched up her face in confusion. "No, it's not you – wait, who asked you what?"

Merrill stared at her indecisively, her mouth open.

"Is this the message you were talking about?"

"No. Wait. Yes!"

Hawke leaned forward impatiently. "… _and?"_

Merrill leaned away from her, wetting her lip nervously. "So…Varric left something for you" she said quickly. "He said he'd picked it up in Hightown and it would prove useful in the next few days. I dropped it off at your house."

"That's it?"

"Er. Yes."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure. It was in a pretty box though. He kept winking at me, said it was a shame he'd be away for a few days because he'd like to see you putting it on."

"Then why are you looking so shifty?"

Merrill avoided her gaze, looking instead around the crowded bar.

"Merrill?"

"Do you hate him?" she said suddenly.

Hawke blinked at the abrupt swerve in conversation. "Are we still talking about Varric?"

"No,  _Fenris_. I'm thinking if this picture isn't me then it's probably him. And it's not a very friendly one."

Hawke looked away. "I barely know him. And I don't intend to try and placate him anymore. I told him in no uncertain terms that after this ball, whatever happens, he stays away from me."

"Oh  _dear_ , really? I know he upset you but...what if he tried to make it up to you?"

"What, by growing a personality and kissing every mage he comes across?"

Merrill flushed slightly and bit her lip. "I wouldn't object to that last part…" she whispered conspiratorially. Hawke raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'd settle for him deciding not to be such an  _arse_  but I suspect that'll never happen."

"People change" said Merrill simply. "Either that or you start seeing them differently."

"Or they stay exactly the same." Hawke pulled herself to her feet, wincing slightly at the stabbing pain in her side. "Come on, it's late. I'll see you home."

"Thanks, Hawke."

* * *

Arriving back at Gamlen's hovel later Hawke tripped over in the dark and fell through the front door, cursing. A single taper on the desk lit the room dimly revealing the rather unsavoury figure of her uncle in his nightshirt.

"Andraste's tits, girl, must you wake the entire household with your clumsiness?" He eyed her sourly. "You're drunk." She glared at him and when she said nothing forthcoming he gestured at the desk with a grunt. "Some elf left this earlier. I'm going back to bed."

After he had gone, Hawke picked up the gilt trimmed box and opened it. Inside lay a pair of red silk, low heeled shoes. A delicate pattern was picked out in gold filigree and complicated looking ribbons flowed from the edging at the top. Hawke smiled.  _Got to give it to the dwarf, he has good taste._ They were very beautiful and looked extremely expensive. Her smile faded slightly at the thought of the next dance lesson but at least the slippers would go some way in addressing Fenris' continued complaints about his bruised toes, the leather of the soles looked very supple.  _Sneaky Varric. He must have known or at least guessed._ Still, she could still do a reasonable amount of damage if she brought her heel down hard enough. Grinning, she headed for bed cradling the box against her chest protectively.

She woke late the following morning feeling rested and strangely content. She had just finished dressing when Bethany appeared, waving a small package.

"This was outside the front door."

It was a small box, one corner crushed and Hawke realised it was what she had tripped over in the dark the previous evening. The paper surrounding it was decorated with an intricate, elvish design. Opening it quickly she found within a small pot of salve.

Bethany took a quick sniff and recoiled. "Urgh. What is that?"

Frowning, Hawke sniffed it, swiped a little with her finger and tentatively applied it to the back of her hand. There was a vague tingling and a sudden coolness on her skin. Carefully she took more onto a finger and swept it over the throbbing skin of her left side, sighing with relief at the sensation. "I think" she said slowly "it's an apology."

"Well, it's certainly… _practical_. It's rather thoughtful, actually."

"Don't make more of it than it is, sis. If I can't move freely I can't dance and this lessens our chances of success, yes? So this is just as much for him as it is for me. "Still," she said, looking slightly mollified, "I suppose it's better than nothing."

"So..." Bethany fidgeted. "Are we still going?"

Hawke sighed with irritation. "Yes. I can't put it off forever, I suppose." She adjusted her daggers.

"Come on, let's go and look at…ugh… _dresses._ "

Bethany looked at her nervously. "Are you absolutely sure you need me to come with you? I know how this sort of thing makes you quite, er,  _angry_ "

"There's no-one I'd rather go with"

"You just spat on me."

* * *

It was late afternoon and Hawke ambled through the market eyeing the weapons and armour. Bethany had left an hour or so earlier pleading fatigue but in reality she'd grown impatient of Hawke's obvious disinterest and growing annoyance with all things dress or dress-related and had sloped off to look at the mage goods in Lowtown. Hawke had waved her off with relief. She had the distinct impression that anything deemed 'fashionable' currently would immediately mutate into 'utterly ridiculous' as soon as she tried it on leaving her looking like an expensively clothed abomination.  _It seems unfair that Mother has to put all the work in to make something for me. She has enough to do. Maybe Isabela can help me. She wears…womanly clothes. I'll ask her to pick something, add 6 inches of cloth at the bust and the hem…_

She stopped beside a cloth merchant's stall and ran a hand over one of the gossamer thin rolls.  _Maybe red and gold to match the shoes._

She looked up at the merchant to ask about pricing and caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She paused for a moment and then turned her head slightly on the pretext of looking at the other goods there. A slim dark figure stepped back out of her view into a nearby alleyway.

_Hmm. What's he doing here?_ She turned and began to head towards an area of the market where the stalls were less busy. Stopping again she flicked a glance to the side and saw the figure slide behind a pillar gracefully.  _He's either stalking me or is too cowardly to approach me. Either way…_ she smiled to herself.

After a pause she moved towards the market exit as if to leave and then abruptly spun on her heel and headed back the way she'd come. Fenris froze in front of her.  _Caught you!_  she thought triumphantly. She saw him cast a quick glance at a nearby fruit stall as if he might dive behind it before deciding that staying put was probably the most dignified option under the circumstances.

He attempted a nonchalant pose as she sauntered closer, her face carefully neutral.

"Good afternoon, Hawke" said Fenris with a visible effort.

She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "Fancy meeting you here, Fenris. I thought you hated the market."

"I avoid it when possible. However, do you suppose food and supplies magically appear in front of me whenever I wish them to?"

"That would be awkward. Would you have to smite yourself for unregulated usage of magic?" She tilted her head and grinned, a faint challenge in her expression.

To her surprise the edges of his mouth quirked slightly. "Perhaps I should leave any punishment to your discretion. I'm sure you could come up with something appropriate."

"Don't go thinking I'd restrict you to just one punishment, now." He dipped his head in amusement, relaxing slightly and then paused as if choosing his next words with care. "In truth I have been walking for some time with the hope of meeting you."

"It would probably have been easier if you'd simply walked up to me rather than sloping into alleyways and behind pillars."

He reddened slightly. "I wanted to make sure your mood would be…reasonable."

She watched his eyes move around the market uncomfortably and then fix on hers again. He seemed to be waiting for something. She sighed and relented.

"Thank you for the gift." She said shortly. "It will come in very handy."

"You…approve?" She nodded and then turned and began to move slowly along the line of stalls once more, vaguely surprised when he fell into step beside her. "I'm not saying I've forgiven and forgotten but as a peace offering it'll do."

"I see." There was an edge of sharpness to his voice and he appeared on the verge of saying something else when the feel of her warm hand on his arm made him stumble slightly.

"One moment, I want to have another look at these."

Hawke stopped before a stall piled with brightly coloured rolls of cloth. She browsed, brow furrowed in concentration, not noticing Fenris continuing to stare stupidly at the place on his arm where her hand had briefly rested.

"Maybe red…" he heard her murmur and visibly recollected himself. He moved closer and watched her hand gently trace over a swathe of deep red silk. "A dress made from this would go beautifully with a gift I received recently." He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

"The colour is…most flattering" he said softly and watched her eyes move over his face.

"I bow to your superior knowledge" she said with a smirk before beckoning the merchant over. "Now if I can get something made that avoids making me look like I've had an altercation with some Chantry curtains…"

"Hawke in a dress…" he mused.

She raised her head slowly. " _Yes?_ "

"It could well be one of Kirkwall's most anticipated occasions."

_He's teasing you, Hawke._ "Or one of its most farcical sideshows." She unrolled a section of cloth and held it up in front of her.

On impulse Fenris grabbed an edge of the silk and draped it over one of her shoulders, smoothing the cloth around her exposed neck and chest. He gently lifted her jaw with the back of a gauntleted hand before tilting his head and nodding in silent approval.

"I was right, it seems" he said half to himself. He suddenly became aware of her eyes on him and they gazed at each other for a long moment. He opened his mouth to speak.

"That colour suits you very well, Serah Hawke." A soft voice floated over her shoulder. She whirled round in surprise effectively cocooning herself in the smooth material, wincing at a sudden tearing noise. The merchant shrieked and raised both hands in horror. Mortified, Hawke flailed her way out of her prison of cloth to come face to face with a brightly smiling Saemus Dumar.

"Good day to you, Ser" she said breezily, flapping away tendrils of silk. "I'll pay for that," she said hastily to the furiously mouthing merchant. Saemus seemed oblivious to anyone but her and stepped forward eagerly.

"Are you choosing material for an evening dress, Serah Hawke? If so, this colour is perfect. It's…vivid and…and…unusually red. Much like yourself. I mean…no, no, not that you're  _red_  of course." He quailed slightly at her questioning gaze. "In fact," he continued valiantly, "I think you are looking an extremely healthy...colour"

"I…thank you, Ser." She said, sketching a quick curtsey and biting back a laugh. "I am indeed looking for finery today. Thank you again for your kind invitation - I will enjoy the opportunity to wear such clothing for a change."

"And I very much look forward to seeing you out of your clothes." There was a pause and he stuttered suddenly, turning bright red. "I mean…that is to say your  _normal_  clothes. Not out of…oh dear…" he turned towards the merchant, flustered. Hawke hid a smile behind her hand and heard Fenris restrain a snort of amusement behind her.

"Allow me to purchase this for you? As a gift? It would give me great pleasure."

Hawke frowned uncomfortably. "It's rather expensive, Saemus. I don't…"

"It is unlike you to refuse expensive gifts, no matter from whom they come" murmured Fenris in her ear.

She shot him a scathing look. "That's very generous of you, Ser," she said loudly, turning back to Saemus. "I only hope I can do justice to your fine gift."

"You will do this material more than justice. You will be the most beautiful woman there, Serah." He turned to face her again, the tips of his ears still slightly red. "And I will be the most fortunate man." He held her gaze and blushed again. "I can hardly wait."

He departed, bowing low over her hand and turned back to give her a shy wave a few steps on.

"He's endearingly awkward." She murmured, watching him leave.  _And likely easily hurt._ She felt a vague twinge of apprehension.  _But this could change so much for us…_

"Inexperience is endearing, is it?" muttered Fenris darkly, scowling at his departing back. "I might have known you'd prefer  _boys_ , Hawke."

"Funny, I've thought the same thing about you many times" she said sweetly, pushing past him at his growl of indignation.

"Serah," called the merchant after her. "Will you be taking this cloth now or will your manservant return for it later?" Hawke didn't dare look at Fenris. She could feel the resentment coming off him in waves.  _Time to leave, I think, before the limbs start flying._ She moved forward quickly, picking up the wrapped bundle.

"I'll see you in a few hours" she muttered in his direction and fled.

* * *

"Oh, this is  _lovely_ " breathed Leandra. "Yes, I can make something quite suitable with this…"

"Just…nothing too fancy please, Mother?"

"I'm not putting weapons pouches anywhere, if that's what you're asking."

"No, just something practical. And easy to walk in."

"Yes, yes." Leandra ignored her, turning dreamily and draping the fine material around her body. Hawke's face softened at the sight of her enraptured expression.  _I'll buy you such dresses, Mother, when all of this is over. Ones that are worthy of you, I promise. You deserve so much better._

"I'll see you later. Wish me luck" She planted a quick kiss on her cheek, and, after hesitating briefly, fetched the box containing her fine shoes, slipping out into the cool of the evening.

TBC

 


	6. Of Music And Missteps

Fenris paced angrily in front of the fire.  _Manservant, is it?_ He thought furiously.  _She did not refute the accusation to either of us._ Luckily the merchant had not acknowledged him any further. He stopped to kick an empty bottle out of the way and yelped as already bruised toes came into contact with unyielding glass.

_She still sees me as an inferior._

He slumped down heavily into an armchair and gazed at the vaulted ceiling.  _You really thought she could see you otherwise?_ He laughed bitterly.

_A means to an end, I am. Nothing has changed, there is no point telling myself otherwise. I am merely a tool to be used and this time, this time I_ _ **allowed**_ _it. First Danarius, now Hawke. A chance at escape, a plan to buy your freedom_ he thought mockingly. _Stupid elf, look what has happened. You have an attachment to this woman. You could not have bound yourself more tightly to this place if you had shackled your wrists to the Gallows yourself._

He steepled his hands under his chin.  _If this plan works, I will leave_ he thought darkly. _These chains must be broken._

A noise downstairs broke him from his reverie. Taking a deep breath, he schooled his features and left, mask firmly in place.

* * *

Hawke was waiting on the stairs next to the seated corpse who appeared to be holding a box in his lap. He descended slowly, noticing she had already lit the torches around the room. She nodded at him with a small smile which was quickly replaced by an expression of concern.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter, Hawke. Why do you ask?"

"You look upset."

He frowned. Clearly his attempt at inscrutability was less effective than he had believed.

"It is of no matter – "

"Was it the whole manservant thing?  _Yes,_ I interrupted you, I'm sorry, don't pout. And don't look so surprised, I'm not  _stupid_. If that merchant had any brains she wouldn't be selling bits of cloth in a smelly marketplace, would she? Besides, you were following me around so it's not beyond the realms of comprehension that she got the wrong idea." She folded her arms and peered up at him.

"Look. Today was just a…a…bad joke. Much as I like the idea of you forced to obey my every whim you are a free man. Your choices are always your own."

He eyed her dispassionately. "Including my decision to tutor you?"

She grinned suddenly. "Well, there was a little emotional manipulation from Merrill as well as the extra incentives of earning some gold and the chance to berate me on your own time."

"You're right, how could I have refused?" He said flatly but she noticed he had relaxed slightly despite his wintry expression.

"Listen, I…" he saw her gaze shift uncomfortably and a muscle twitched in her jaw. "I don't think I've ever thanked you properly for your help." Her tongue darted out to wet a lip nervously. "And your patience. I'm aware our relationship is strained at the best of times. It's not been easy for either us. I've had to make… _changes_  in my behaviour to accommodate…" she tailed off reluctantly.

"One such as me?" he said stiffly. "An ex-slave?" He snorted, brushing dust from his gloves. "Your family may be Kirkwall nobility but blood does not make up for bearing."

Hawke ground her teeth. " _Actually_  I was going to say to accommodate the high expectations of someone as refined as yourself. For a moment there I forgot you are about as refined as the stitching on my  _smallclothes_."

She turned away from him and stamped down into the foyer. He stood immobile for a moment in surprise.  _She believes herself to be inferior? To my expectations?_  He followed her down thoughtfully.  _I am beginning to understand her fury at any hint of condescension_. He huffed a laugh quietly.  _We are more similar than I thought._

The corpse glared at him reprovingly as he passed.

She stood in the middle of the marble floor, daggers out, arms in the five past three position. She was looking away from him towards the door.

"Are the daggers necessary, Hawke?"

"They help me focus."

Sighing, he moved in front of her, holding his arms in a matching stance, a yard between them. There was a brief pause and he stepped forward. She stepped back. He moved to the side, turning and she twisted with him, following his steps perfectly even as her gaze remained firmly on a point to her right.

"You have been practising." He took quick steps forward and she retreated, flowing gracefully backwards.

"Surprised I can manage something so simple?" They circled each other and turned.

"I am impressed. You now appear to dance as effortlessly as you fight." She looked at him then as they circled each other again, moving in the opposite direction. He spread his arms wide and she whirled within his pretended embrace before stepping towards him. They spun around the room, watching the other's face carefully. Her boots scuffed the marble floor rhythmically and his armour rang as they moved.

"This isn't working." Hawke stopped suddenly and Fenris cannoned into her. " _Ow._ "

"My apologies, Hawke. I didn't expect…let me see – "

She batted his hand away. "It's just a bruised cheek, I've had worse. Your  _bloody_ armour!"

He gazed at her as she gently explored her swelling cheek. "What did you mean? What isn't working?"

She looked up at him. "I need something to focus on. It's not as if I can pull out my daggers when Saemus leads me onto the dance floor."

"He may appreciate the symbolism."

"I shudder to think what  _he_  might pull out then. I've an idea. Wait here. Give me, oh, an hour or so. I'll be back."

Fenris perched on edge of the desk, arms folded and expression puzzled. "I'll be waiting."

* * *

Hawke stopped by Anders' clinic. Brushing off a bruised cheek was all well and good but appearing in front of the Seneschal with a black eye went beyond even the most daring of fashions. He was seated at his desk, feverishly scribbling, when Hawke wandered in. Seeing her he rose immediately, his face darkening.

"Did  _he_ do this to you?"

"Well, yes and no…"

He drew in a sharp breath and she saw his eyes flare briefly. "Mostly no!" She said hastily, putting a hand on his shoulder. He subsided, still looking at her face suspiciously.

"I, er, ran into his armour."

"You ran into his armour," he repeated flatly. "You do realise that's probably the worst excuse I've  _ever_ heard? As bad as 'I fell down the stairs' or 'a potato was on the chair and I happened to have no clothes on when I sat down?'"

"It's not an - what? Seriously? Has a patient actually ever said that to you or is it one of those stories from the tavern that a man who knows a man told you?"

"I have no comment. But I needed gloves." Anders turned her face slightly, examining her cheek.

"Urgh. Honestly, we were dancing and I ran into his armour. Well, more accurately his armour ran into my face." Anders hand hovered above her jaw and stopped.

"You were dancing?"

"Indeed we were. I was doing very well once I'd stopped obsessing over how best to stab him in the eye. He's turned out to be…an amenable partner." She smiled slightly, remembering and Anders narrowed his eyes. "The practice is missing something though, I'm heading to the Alienage to try and sort it out." She sighed as warmth spread over her cheek. "Thanks, Anders."

"You're welcome." He hesitated slightly. "Hawke…"

"Hmm?"

"I can dance too, you know." Hawke smiled fondly and patted his arm. "You never said. If I do end up stabbing him, you're the very next person I'll come to practise with."

"Thank you. I think."

After Hawke had left with a wink, Anders perched himself on the edge of the examination table with a sigh. He was miserably aware that although he had won several gold sovereigns, a part of him felt he was in the process of losing a lot more than money.  _It's probably for the best_ he told himself. The thought provided him with absolutely no comfort whatsoever.

* * *

Fenris hurriedly replaced the lid on the box the corpse was holding when the front door to the mansion swung open. Hawke stepped through followed by a small elven woman who looked around nervously.

"I'm back. I brought a guest."

"So I see. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hawke ushered the woman gently forwards. "This is Briana. She's a…friend of the family. She's also a musician."

The elf woman nodded at him eagerly. "Yes, Ser. Since I was a child. Mistress Hawke was kind enough to buy me this lute after…after some troubles with gangs in the Alienage."

Fenris scowled at her. "There is no need to call me Ser, Mistress Briana." He snapped. "In addition, I ask that you'll allow me to pay you for your services tonight."

Briana cast a worried look at Hawke. "He means your musical services," said Hawke soothingly, quirking an eyebrow at him. "At least I hope that's what he means." She swallowed a smirk at Fenris' look of outrage.

Briana drew herself up indignantly. "I will never receive a copper from Serah Hawke," she snapped at him. "Not after what she's done for me and mine own." Striding past him she sat at the bottom of the staircase and began to unwrap a cloth bundle she had drawn from underneath her cloak.

"That's told  _you,_ " said Hawke to him with a rueful shrug.

"I daresay."

"Also, I have a surprise for you and your toes. I think we can probably do away with the daggers. For the moment anyway."

"I am honoured."

"As you should b – " Hawke stopped abruptly and blinked in surprise. "You've removed your armour."

"Yes." He said simply.

The chest plate, pauldrons and gauntlets were gone and she was suddenly very aware of the newly revealed skin of his arms and hands. He wore only his simple close fitting tunic and whilst he was as tall he also seemed leaner and less imposing. Her eyes moved over the delicate tracings on his forearms and hands.

"Do they..?" she stopped again and he saw her tap her foot on the marble of the floor.

" _Don't._ "

"Don't what?"

"Count. Just ask."

He saw her brows go up in surprise. "Alright. Do they still hurt?"

"Yes. Sometimes are worse than others. They are not merely burns but raw lyrium forced under my skin."

"Barbaric." She muttered. "My injury was painful enough, but…was the pain lessened for you?"

"No. I was aware throughout the procedure." He saw her eyes widen in horror. "The agony removed any memories of the life I led before."

Hawke nodded slowly, comprehension spreading over her features. He watched her head tilt as she followed the pale lines to his fingertips with her eyes. "Will it hurt if I…"

"No-one has touched me in gentleness for so long, in truth I do not know."

She eyed him, lips pressed together as he searched her face for pity and to his relief found nothing but understanding.  _She continues to surprise me._ Tentatively she reached out, and, after a pause, he turned his palm over, following the stretch of her arm as her fingers approached him.

They both jumped at a sudden shriek behind them. Briana had flattened herself against the bannister and was gibbering in terror at the corpse with a box.

Hawke cleared her throat and dropped her hand. "Oh, don't mind him," she said airily, moving to placate the stuttering elven woman. "He's part of the furniture." She picked up the box and sat down next to her, removing the shoes from their wrappings. "These were a gift, now's a good a time to try them as any." She toed off her boots and held them up, fiddling with the ribbons with some bemusement.

Briana was staring at the patterning. "They are beautiful. Are they a gift from your lover?"

Hawke snorted with amusement. "What lover? A gift from an…interested party. Where on earth are these supposed to go?"

"These markings here – "

"May I?" said Fenris softly from somewhere near her ankles. She watched in amazement as he gently fitted the slippers onto her feet and deftly wound the ribbons around her calves, fastening them securely.

"Where did you learn that? Was Danarius partial to women's shoes?"

He hesitated and then quirked a corner of his mouth. "A skill I picked up in passing." Briana began strumming quietly as he rose and moved back to the centre of the foyer where he sketched a bow. "Shall we?"

She moved towards him and immediately slipped on the marble of the floor. Arms pinwheeling she grabbed at the nearest steadying object only to have it come away in her hands as she fell over backwards. There was a discordant twang from behind them. They both stared at the lock of white hair clasped in her fist.

"If you wished a token from me, you need only have asked," he said sardonically, rubbing his scalp.

"Sorry. Give me a moment." She pulled a whetstone from a pouch and roughened the soles of the slippers. "That should do it."

"I hope so. I have only so much hair."

She moved into position in front of him stiffening slightly as he caught her hands in the warmth of his own. She watched his face carefully for signs of discomfort but he merely inclined his head and began the steps of the dance. The tune the elven woman played was unfamiliar to either of them but it was slow, melodious and strangely melancholy, pulling at them as they moved around the room together.  _Beautiful_ thought Briana hazily, swept up by their synchronicity and the swell of emotion playing always brought her.

"This isn't painful?" asked Hawke, wary of grasping his hands too tightly.

"You haven't stepped on my toes once."

"I'm clearly not trying hard enough."

He frowned. "Speaking of which, your face?"

"Anders. He thought you'd hit me." She grinned, went up on her toes and whirled. He caught her hands lightly. "I assured him that wasn't the case. He was on the verge of storming in with that glowy thing he does I think. Don't worry, I placated him. Them."

He stepped to one side of her and glared at her out of the corner of his eye. "I do not need your protection. And how did you placate him, may I ask?"

She moved to face him impatiently.  _Fine_.  _Nobody needs anybody else's protection._ "Womanly wiles," she said shortly.

"You are quite free in dispensing those it seems." He narrowed his eyes. "And that…mage…I believe is particularly susceptible. To what extent will you be practising them on the viscount's boy?" They resumed their gentle turns about the room, a little more stiffly than previously.

"To whatever extent they are required. Why do you ask? This is a  _job_ , remember? It may have some eventual perks, I suppose, but I don't intend to become overly entangled." She trailed an arm around his waist and moved to stand behind him.

"At what point do you consider yourself 'overly entangled'?" He stepped to one side grasping her arm and turning.

She looked up at him, lips pursed. "More than one night? I don't really see Qun boy and I becoming any more than occasional, how should I put it,  _dance_  partners" she continued, "but I'm sure I can maintain his interest and exaggerate my own."

"I do not believe any woman is capable of feigning interest she does not truly feel." His hands were on her upper arms, holding her still.

"Is that right?" said Hawke archly. "And what if I  _am_  interested in him?" They stood motionless, facing the other, the dance forgotten.

"I do not believe you are. It will be difficult to convince him otherwise. You are altogether too honest to deceive completely."

She was silent a moment, eyeing him.  _Honest, is it?_ With one swift movement she stepped forward and pressed her lips against his. She felt him freeze suddenly and was beginning to step away when his hand came up and tangled in her hair, his lips moving hesitantly against hers. His kiss was tentative and slightly clumsy but the sudden tremor that went through his body as he tilted his head to deepen it sent a bolt of heat straight down to her groin and she found herself responding, brushing his tongue with hers. She was suddenly aware the music had stopped and stepped away abruptly, wiping her lips with the back of her hand in seeming unconcern.

For a moment he simply gazed at her, face flushed and breathing shallow and she fought to conceal her confusion and sudden arousal at the sight of him so dishevelled.

You kissed me to prove a point." His eyes were wide and accusing, the hand still on her arm tightened convulsively.

"Of  _course._  It's not so hard." She pulled her arm free and strode past him towards a gaping Briana, face impassive. "When you know how." She replaced the shoes in the box carefully and pulled on her boots, unable to look at him directly. "We must go. Thank you, Fenris. For everything. It's been very…educational."

"For us both" he murmured, standing aside as the two women passed. He reached towards her she passed him. "Hawke…"

She paused, attention caught by his outstretched hand. "Yes?"

"I…wish you luck."

He saw her mouth open to reply and as the silence stretched eventually she simply nodded and turned away, leaving him standing motionless in the shadows of the hall.

* * *

They headed back to the Alienage, Briana struggling to keep up with Hawke who was powering through the dim streets, glaring at the ground as though it had done her a personal injury.

"Mistress, Mistress Hawke  _please_ slow down!"

_Of all the stupid, impulsive,_ _ **reckless**_ _things you've ever done that has to be right up there. Tease him, fine. Provoke him, fine. Use him…like that…to prove a point, absolutely_ _ **not**_ _fine._

She kicked a patch of dirt furiously.

_How is it different from all the other times you've tried to get a reaction out of him?_ The stray thought wandered through her head and she slowed.  _Because it is. Because…_

Because his reaction had shaken her. Through the warmth of his chest she had felt his heart racing, felt his fingers gently twining into her hair. He'd smelt of spices and armour oil and something else indefinably  _him_. He'd shivered when she'd run her fingers over the back of his neck.

_Because…_

His face when she'd stepped away from him had been momentarily transformed with an expression of great sweetness, open and vulnerable until he'd realised what she'd done. Then  _oh then_ her face burned at the memory, the  _look_  he'd given her with the sheen of her lips still on him. Hurt, betrayal, anger…and she'd done nothing to appease him. She'd simply left him there, had run like a coward.  _He allowed you to touch him, you_ _ **made**_ _him react to you and then you tossed him aside like he was nothing._ She closed her eyes against the waves of shame tightening her throat and making her chest ache.  _You bloody idiot. Maker, I feel awful…_

_Because you like him._

She stopped so suddenly that Briana rebounded off the back of her with a soft crunch and multiple twanging noises.

"I'll buy you another one."

"It doesn't matter, Mistress Hawke. Is everything alright?"

"Not really, no." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's nothing I can do anything about now. Or possibly ever."

"I don't – "

"We're nearly there, come on."

* * *

They paused under the lamps outside the elven woman's dilapidated house. "I hope you have a nice time tomorrow, Mistress Hawke. You'll look beautiful I'm sure. Especially in those shoes."

Hawke shrugged. "You can have them afterwards. I'm sure I'll have no further use for them."

Briana coloured. "Oh,  _no_ , Mistress. That would not be…proper."

Hawke looked perplexed. "Proper? They would be a gift…and my feet don't sweat  _that_ much."

Briana shook her head quickly. "What I mean to say is…here." She opened the box and ran a finger over the delicate filigreed pattern. "These designs are a declaration, you see. It's an old elvish custom. An acceptance of the other." She caught Hawke's increasingly confused expression. "An intention to court?"

She jumped at Hawke's sudden loud peal of laughter.  _I'm pretty sure Varric knew nothing about the patterning when he picked these up for me._ Aware that her laughter was tinged with hysteria she took a breath and wiped her eyes. "I understand. My thanks, Briana."

"Goodnight, Mistress Hawke. Be well."

Hawke turned back in the direction of Lowtown.  _Better get some sleep. Tomorrow is the big day._

But as Fenris' shocked and accusatory face danced before her eyes she knew that sleep would elude her for most, if not all, of the night ahead.

TBC

 


	7. Of Docks And Departures

"Get back, Aveline!" Hawke hissed furiously.

Aveline crouched and placed a finger to her lips. Carefully she peered out from behind her cover and ducked back in, grimacing. "There are quite a few of them, Hawke. I don't think we can sneak by."

"Perhaps a diversion?" Suggested Isabela. "I could run out, flash some leg and when they're looking the other way…"

"You couldn't flash any more leg if you tried. And most of them have probably had a good look at what's at the top of them anyway" said Aveline distantly, shifting to try and get a better view.

"Prude."

"Whore."

" _Quiet,_  you two" snapped Hawke impatiently. "Why this evening of all evenings? Haven't they got anything better to do?"

Isabela inspected her nails. "I'd answer that particular question with a resounding no. This will probably be the most excitement they've had in weeks."

Aveline turned and stood. "It'll be fine, Hawke. We're ready." She patted her once on the shoulder as Hawke blew out a breath and squared her shoulders.

"Isabela?"

"Right behind you, sweet thing." The pirate winked slyly. "My favourite place to be. Let's go."

Tensing in readiness Hawke stepped through the door. For a brief moment there was silence and then Leandra let out a tiny sob, Varric a whistle and there was a smattering of applause from the others who had all congregated in the tiny front room of Gamlen's hovel.

"Darling, you look lovely," sighed Leandra, gathering her into a hug.

"Like something out of a painting! A really nice one," whispered Merrill, eyes huge. "Oh,  _Hawke_."

Hawke shrugged, grinning. "Good to know. I don't have a mirror so I'll have to trust your judgement."

"You can always come and use mine."

"Uh, no, Merrill, you're fine. I might need my soul later."

"Debatable," purred Isabela. "There's usually much more fun to be had if you leave things like that at home."

Hawke shot her a look. "Explains your regular lack of smallclothes."

" _Absolutely_  it does."

Anders cleared his throat and stepped forward. "I have a gift for you, before you go" he said and raised a closed hand. Hawke was aware of a sudden stir behind her and was on the point of turning when he grasped her hand with his other and dropped some small shiny objects into her palm. She looked down to see two delicate gold hoops and smiled.

"You shouldn't have."

"I didn't, not really. They used to be mine but I'm not…I don't wear them much any more."

"Thank you, Anders." She drifted forwards and placed a kiss on his cheek, noticing his eyes flick triumphantly over her shoulder. Puzzled, she turned and started when she saw the familiar black-clad figure of Fenris leaning against the wall in the corner. Her stomach swooped dangerously and she felt her face flush slightly - fortunately he was still trading glares with Anders, his face set. Calmly, she put the earrings in.

"Fenris."

He nodded shortly. "Hawke."

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"Clearly."

"Any last words of wisdom?"

"If I thought you would listen to them, I have many."

"Doesn't she look lovely, Fenris?" said Merrill dreamily, oblivious to the thunderous looks passing between the two. Aveline grimaced at Bethany who was watching the exchange curiously.

Fenris looked Hawke up and down wordlessly, face hardening as his gaze lingered over the earrings. Hawke narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring her treacherously fluttering insides.  _If you're going to take it out on anyone, take it out on me and not here._

"He turned up out of nowhere." said Varric, grinning broadly. "I think he wanted to see the results of his handiwork. Isn't that right, Fenris? What do you think?"

"Acceptable," he said shortly. Hawke pressed her lips together in irritation.

"Actually there's not much of his handiwork left to see," she said coolly. Anders here healed my face up nicely."

There was an awkward silence.

"Darling – " started Leandra.

_Damn it. Forgot to count._ Fenris glowered at her. "That was an  _accid_  – "

"Well!" She said too brightly. "Time I was going. Wish me luck, everyone."

"Wait, you can't go alone dressed like that, Hawke" said Aveline worriedly. "I'll go with you."

"I'm not unarmed," said Hawke, patting her thigh and grinning at her mother's exasperated sigh. "Besides, everyone will think I'm being arrested if I turn up at the Keep with the Captain of the City Guard."

"I will accompany you," said Fenris. "No-one will object to you arriving with your  _manservant_."

Hawke reflexivly balked and then sighed inwardly.  _Let him get it off his chest. You owe him that much._

"Agreed."

Anders stepped forward quickly. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Hawke? Maybe I should go with you as well. It's not safe."

"She is perfectly safe in my company," said Fenris, scowling. "A fine plan, mage. By all means accompany us to a Keep filled with City Guards and Templars. Perhaps we should stop by the Gallows on the way to save us time and effort."

" _No-one_ is safe in your company – " started Anders.

"Shut up, you two" said Hawke crossly. "You want to be my manservant, fine. You're not allowed to sulk if I give you my cloak to carry."

"Can I have him afterwards?" Called Isabela. "I've a few things need taking care of."

"Just keep your regular appointments at the clinic and you'll be fine" replied Hawke, rolling her eyes. She glanced at the wintry face of Fenris, smile fading. "Come on then, let's get this over with."

* * *

The night was warm and the breeze coming from the sea pleasantly cool as they walked along the docks. Fenris wrinkled his nose at the ever-present smell of fish.

"You walked this way on purpose."

"I did not. I needed some fresh air."

"The air is never fresh down here."

"Alright, I needed to clear my head."

"That won't have taken long."

Hawke stopped suddenly. "Just say whatever it is you want to say and get it over with, Fenris. You're angry about last night, I understand." She fidgeted slightly under the intensity of his gaze.

"I should not have done what I did." She hesitated and then forced out the words reluctantly.

"It wasn't… _nice_."

She turned and continued walking. "Anyway if all goes well tonight you'll be free of the lot of us and probably better off for it."

Her wrist was suddenly grasped and she was spun around roughly to face him, balking slightly at the expression of fury on his face. "What you did does not anger me so much as you persisting with this pointless act of yours, Hawke."

She tried to prise her wrist free from his iron grip with no success. "Let go of me, Fenris" she said dangerously. "I anger you by doing pretty much  _anything_ so what particular act would this be, may I ask?"

"Your pretence that the kiss meant nothing to you." His eyes glittered in the lamplight as she yanked at his arm futilely.

"Don't be ridiculous. You think you were that good? I did it to prove a point, you know it and I  _certainly_  know it."

"If it had meant nothing you would have stayed. Instead you ran like a coward. Denying it will not make it the truth."

"Neither will anything else. Let  _go_  of me. I have a dagger."

"And knees. Yes, I'm aware." He pulled her towards him suddenly and wound his free arm around her waist.

"What – "

His kiss this time was more confident and aggressive. His tongue swept over her lips and delved into her mouth, brushing hers gently. His eyes were open and challenging, green gaze brilliant. She felt herself respond almost without volition, her hand clutching at his shoulder. He dropped her wrist and pulled at her hair, changing the angle of her head to deepen the kiss, moving her slightly off balance so she was forced to grab his other shoulder to keep from falling. They stood there for long moments, battling for dominance with lips, tongues and teeth until finally he broke away from her and settled her back on her feet. She drew in a breath, recovering, her face flushed and breathing rapid.

"What are you  _doing_?"

"Proving a point."

Her offhand words from the previous night repeated back to her knocked the breath from her chest as surely as if he had struck her. Humiliation rushed up from her toes to her face and with it came a rage so intense she nearly howled. She clenched her fists and tried to maintain her composure, watching his expression slide from triumphant to slightly alarmed in an instant.

"I  _see._ So I toy with you and you toy with me right back? Petty one-upmanship was it?"

"No, I – "

"How  _dare_ you touch me like that?  _Use_ me like that? I'd already apologised to you but still you needed to rub it in just that  _little bit more._ And your point was? What? That you can be just as thoughtless as I can?"

His mouth opened but whatever he was going to say was lost as her hand connected with his cheek with an echoing slap. He gazed at her mutely, hair falling in disarray over his face.

"Any -  _any_ tolerance I might have had for you is gone and it's clear you've never had any regard for my feelings. You arrogant  _bastard_." She turned away and began striding swiftly in the direction of Hightown, hearing a flurry of movement as he hurried to catch up with her.

"Wait."

She turned swiftly and shoved at his chest. "I will  _not_ wait. What I said before," she swallowed past the sudden ache in her throat. "I meant it. After all this is done, you get paid and you stay away from me. Stay  _away_."

His eyes moved over her face and then he drew himself up minutely. "As you wish. You do not need me, after all."

She bit her tongue against a cutting reply and turned her back on him, not caring if he followed or not.

* * *

They walked in silence until at last they stood in the torchlight of the Keep. People in brightly coloured formal attire filed past them, casting curious glances at the tall, silent elf. Hawke brushed at her dress and gazed up at the cluster of people around the entrance gate. She saw the anxiously waiting figure of Saemus standing near his father who was greeting the incoming guests. Saemus nodded distractedly at a passing couple and resumed his vigil, eyes moving over the new arrivals ascending towards the Keep. Fenris moved to climb the steps but she raised her hand.

"Stay down here." His face hardened.

"May I speak?" he growled.

"You may not."

He looked down and to the side as she brushed past him, lifting the hem of her dress slightly to climb the stone stairs, the pattern on the shoes sparkling in the torchlight.

"Hawke," he said softly.

She paused and looked back at him indecisively. His face was closed, his eyes shadowed and the sudden urge to hear him out warred with the instinct to leave him there alone on the steps. "Yes?"

"I would not see you do this."

She sighed irritably and shook her head in exasperation. "No, you don't think I  _can_  do this," she hissed. "Have you forgotten you don't have a say in the matter? I can do it, I  _will_ do it. Especially now  _I_  have a point to prove. And I'm fairly convinced Saemus harbours honourable intentions towards me rather than petty rivalry which will make things a lot more pleasant." She pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. "All we do is fight each other, Fenris. Or look for ways to go one up or to get the last word in. And it's  _exhausting._ No good can ever come of it." He stirred and looked at her, meeting her accusing gaze steadily. " _What_. What is it?"

"I'm leaving."

She flinched slightly at the flatness of his tone. "Planning your itinerary already? Are you saying you think I will succeed despite everything?"

"I'm leaving tonight."

"Tonight..?"

"You are right."

"About what?"

"About this. No good will come of it."

"What about the money? Where will you go?"

He ignored her. "I will not be beholden to you. And there is now no reason for me to stay." He eyed her. "But it was."

"Was what?"

"Nice."

Her face creased in confusion. "I don't – "

"Serah Hawke!" An expression of puzzlement still on her features she turned to see Saemus bounding down the steps towards her and smoothed her face hastily. "You're here! And you look most marvellously lovely." He skidded to a halt next to her, out of breath and took her hand, sweeping a kiss over her knuckles.

She forced a smile and curtseyed. "Saemus. How dashing you look. All the eligible women here will be most envious of me."

He beamed at her. "Nonsense, Truly, I am the lucky one. Shall we?" He took her arm and began to guide her towards the entrance. She took a step and hesitated. "One moment." She turned back towards Fenris and stopped. He was nowhere to be seen. Casting her eyes over the darkened courtyard she thought she saw a stir of movement within the shadows of the arches, the glint of armour. And then it was gone.

Lifting her chin she took Saemus' arm, and, nodding to a quietly amused Viscount, entered the Keep. The interior was a riot of colours and lights made all the more intense by the large mirrors placed around the foyer. Hawke looked up at the chandeliers and took a deep breath, people turning to look at her as she passed with the Viscount's son who was smiling proudly. She felt oddly empty and disconnected, not realising that Saemus had been speaking until she looked up to meet his enquiring gaze.

"I'm so sorry, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of this place," she said quickly. "What was it you were saying?"

"So easily impressed" he laughed. "That bodes well," He coloured suddenly. "I mean…er…would you like to dance?"

"I would love to" she said distantly, caught by her reflection in the glass. The deep red of the dress flowing over one shoulder accentuated her pale skin and dark hair. It gathered under her breasts and fell softly to the floor, the slippers peeking out from under the hem. Simple lines but beautiful. She hardly recognised herself.

Saemus caught her hands and they began to move through the other dancing couples slowly. Hawke closed her eyes.

_I still can't quite believe what he did. I've seen him act in anger. I've seen him bitter and defensive but never outright cruel._  She forced herself to relax her grip a little as Saemus winced, smiling at her a little worriedly.  _It's your own fault. You let yourself get entangled, that's why what he did matters to you. Well, problem solved. He's moving on. You told him to stay away from you and he is doing just that._

She cast another glance into the mirror. No, she hardly recognised herself. This woman who danced so fluidly with such loss in her eyes was no-one she knew at all.

TBC

 


	8. The Last Dance

Fenris trudged slowly through the shadowy Kirkwall streets, head down as if in thought. In reality, however, his mind was blank, his body numb, the only recognisable sensation a dull ache in his chest. He looked to neither left nor right. A stray thought prickled at his mind – if he were to be followed and attacked he would most certainly find himself at a disadvantage owing to his distracted state. The answering whisper was that in truth he did not much care and the darker feeling unspoken was that he would almost certainly welcome any pain which may have followed. For once the streets were empty and quiet though, and eventually he stopped in a darkened alcove, slumping onto a stone bench set into the recess.

_How could I have gotten it so wrong?_

Whilst at first they had not shared a particularly friendly relationship, in fact most of their exchanges had been borne of extreme animosity, recently he had been fairly sure of earning her respect, grudging though it was. Over the last weeks his feelings towards her had begun to change. If he was honest with himself had begun to change that first night, at the unexpected loss in her eyes whilst she gazed into the fire, the hurt when the reason was revealed the next day as a consequence of his bullishness, his sudden urge to make it up to her so as not to be excluded again after they had argued over her lyrium burn.

And she had accepted his gift…

She was still stubborn, defensive and quick to take both offense and the offensive but she had also shown him flashes of understanding, even tenderness. Her barriers were his, built to guard against loss, mockery and to bolster the resilience needed to survive, to keep going. He had thought they were beginning to understand one another, to see past the masks they both wore. She had surprised him with her perceptiveness, had seen the pain and anger he had tried to hide at being cast as her manservant and had addressed it. Had tried to make him  _feel_ better. That was new. He could not recall anyone treating him with a kindness that was not marred by pity or self-interest. She had also shown him vulnerability and recognised his in turn, her fingers gentle as they had clasped his bared hands.

Then she had  _kissed_ him and the pleasure had transported him before the realisation had knocked him back down to earth. His first reaction had been one of hurt and anger that she would use him so carelessly and then discard him afterwards. She had shaken him off and wiped her mouth, curt with a throwaway line and he had  _hated_  her for her cruelty…until he had seen how much her hand was trembling. He had watched her walk unsteadily towards the elven woman and then leave, barely looking at him. The old, uncaring Hawke, the Hawke he thought he knew, would have stayed around for a few more jibes, would perhaps have tried to provoke him more, hammer more chinks into his armour. There had been something there.  _Something_ had changed. He had almost gone after her, there and then, desperate to pull at this new thread but he knew the elven woman's presence would put her on the defensive so instead he had fetched a bottle from the cellar and sat next to the corpse who had eyed him almost amicably as he drank and pondered.

So he'd turned up at the hovel she called a home the next evening with something that felt very much like hope, and, ignoring the jeering voices in his head had offered himself to her as manservant. She had made a throwaway comment, yes, but she had not laughed at him, had accepted another gift carved from his soul, one more meaningful than the mere baubles from the apostate.

He had not known where to go from there and then she had apologised. He had thought her on the verge of saying something else when she had abruptly turned and made as if to continue her appointed meeting with the  _stupid_ Viscount's boy. Anger had flooded him then with the fear that it had all been an illusion, that her regard was a Fade dream, strands pulled together by his loneliness and need and he had kissed her feverishly, desperate to show her what she was to him. And  _oh Maker_ she had responded, and, dizzy with elation, he had opened his mouth, made a glib comment and pulled everything down around them.

Her reaction had sent him reeling, he had barely felt the blow she dealt him. At first he had been too undone to come up with anything coherent and later too crushed to even try.

He dropped his head into his hands.  _Nothing good will ever come of it._  Her words echoed in his head and he drew in a sharp breath at the memory of her face. She was beyond him now, the only feelings she harboured towards him were those of disgust and he had certainly lost her respect. They would go on misunderstanding, misinterpreting and hurting the other until whatever they had managed to build was completely destroyed.

_I have no choice. I must leave tonight. I cannot risk seeing her again…the distaste on her face. I am nothing to her. Less even than a slave.  
_

_Perhaps you always were_ whispered a treacherous voice. He closed his eyes briefly and then rose with a sigh, heading towards the mansion one last time.

* * *

Hawke finished off her third glass of wine with a flourish, smiling brightly at Saemus who was chatting with some local dignitaries. He shot her a pleased glance and continued the conversation as her gaze wandered around the room. She was feeling a lot better generally. Saemus had proved to be a diverting companion if only to count the number of 'ers' he could drop into a few simple sentences and the ferocity with which he could blush. He was, however, endearingly keen and seemed not to notice her distracted state. She caught herself as her thoughts turned towards Fenris and gave herself a mental shake, breathing through the cold tendrils beginning to weave their way through her chest. Turning, she grasped another glass from a passing tray and beamed at a nearby merchant, taking a large mouthful. As far as networking went, she had been very successful. Most of the people she had encountered during the course of the evening had been more than willing to talk with the honoured guest's guest, more than a few had pledged work for her little 'organisation' and had promised to be in touch within the next few days.

She took another sip of the wine grimacing at the sweetness and drifted towards a nearby bench, settling herself beside an elaborately dressed matriarch. The elderly lady turned her attention to her, the feathers on her hat tickling Hawke's nose.

"Serah Hawke, I presume?" Hawke immediately bristled at her tone, the clipped speech marking her as one inhabiting the higher echelons of the gentry and making a statement of the question.

"Indeed. And you are?"

"Curious." She replied archly. "Saemus caused quite a stir when he presented you as his companion for the evening. How do you two know each other?"

"Through work." Hawke took large gulp of wine and tried not to let her irritation show. There was a pause as the woman looked her up and down.

"You drink uncommonly fast."

_I don't have to be polite to everyone tonight._ Hawke plastered a smile across her face. "Do you like balls, my Lady?"

"I do" she replied, looking slightly startled at the sudden change in subject.

"Big, colourful ones? They are certainly a delight to the eye, wouldn't you agree? Or the smaller, more intimate ones, perhaps? Much easier to accommodate, I find." She arranged her skirt ostentatiously, biting back on a smirk as the elderly lady appeared to consider her question carefully, her gaze moving over the hem of Hawke's dress.

"Ah," she said finally. "So the mystery of who purchased Madame Selena's finest shoes is answered." Her tone was decidedly less frosty, Hawke noted with surprise. She lifted a foot and regarded it, shrugging slightly. "There must have been very little of news this past week if these shoes were a major topic of conversation."

"The mystery was not so much the shoes, my dear, rather to whom the peculiarly dressed elven servants who collected and paid for them belonged. An acquaintance of mine happened to be by the stall at the time."

Hawke felt her mouth drop open. "I'm sorry –  _elven_ …servants? There wasn't a dwarf there displaying a frightening amount of chest hair?"

"Yes, dear. The male one especially, most dedicated. I believe he even had Madame show him how they should be properly fitted. You must pay them well for such attention to detail. And I'm sure my friend would remember a dwarf with such...features...had he been present."

"He… _what_? The shoes were..?" Hawke's head was spinning and she leaned back against the wall briefly closing her eyes. The matriarch continued, oblivious.

"Of course we were all very surprised that Madame parted with her finest creation for so little." Her brow creased in puzzlement. "Very strange. And that poor little elven girl with such a terrible cut on her hand as well, my friend remembers it distinctly. She didn't seem to want your other servant to notice."

Hawke shot to her feet. "I must go."

"But I haven't finished – young woman,  _come back here immediately._  "

"Oh sod off."

"Well, I  _never –_ "

She left her spluttering indignantly and headed for the Keep exit, past a surprised and disappointed Saemus who called after her, past staring couples whom she knocked to left and right in her haste to get to the door. Once there she stopped and sought out Saemus' face amidst the gaping guests, mouthing a last  _I'm sorry_  before hurrying off into the night.

* * *

Merrill sat quietly in her tiny house contemplating the latest damp stain on the wall with a small sigh of resignation.

"I honestly don't know where you come from. It's not rained here in weeks!" She dropped her chin into her hands with a dreamy smile. "She looked  _so_ lovely didn't she, Stain? Like some mythical creature. I do hope she's having a nice evening." Her face fell slightly. "I wonder what happened after they left. You know I really thought those two might – " She jerked in fright at a sudden hammering on her door.

Hurrying over she pulled it open to reveal a crimson-faced, panting Hawke with tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead.

"By the Dread Wolf, Hawke, I nearly died of shock!" She peered past her and seeing no-one whispered conspiratorially. "Is Saemus  _really_ that good?" She quailed slightly at Hawke's wild-eyed stare of incomprehension. "Perhaps you'd better come in."

"The  _shoes_ , Merrill," wheezed Hawke. "You went with Fenris to get them."

Merrill's hand shot up to cover her mouth. "But how did you..? I wasn't sleepwalking again, was I? Did I sleepwalk to your house and accidentally tell you?"

"You…? Never mind. No, I found out from someone else. Why would he ask you? He  _hates_ you. And Anders. In fact, most people. Including me."

"Well," said Merrill, looking shifty. "I didn't so much go with him as see him standing at that lady's stall – I mean what would  _he_ want with ladies' clothing although sometimes I do wonder about those leggings…"

"Merrill…"

"Oh. Well. I decided to get a look at what he was buying…and then I  _saw_ and asked him were those for you – he wasn't pleased to see me, I can tell you, I thought he was going to twist my head off he looked so cross!" She clapped her hands delightedly. "But then I said that they were beautiful, a  _perfect_ present for you and just your colour too! So he – "

Hawke clutched her head. "Wait…just a minute. The patterning on the shoes. Did he know what the patterning signified?" She took a breath. "This is important."

Merrill bit her lip. "No…but I told him. I said the script was a traditional Dalish courting decoration and he looked at me very strangely. And then he asked the lady how much they were. Goodness, he went a funny colour when she told him and I'm not surprised at all because they were  _very_ expensive." Merrill looked shifty again and Hawke eyed her suspiciously.

"…And?"

"I sent him off to another stall to look at something and I…bartered."

Hawke grabbed her hand and shook it when she saw the stained bandage. " _Merrill_  you used…how could you?"

Merrill drew herself upright. "He wanted to buy them for you and he would never have been able to afford them otherwise. I couldn't think of anything else to do. He didn't see."

"That's not the point!" Howled Hawke and then took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. " _Why_ didn't you tell me? I barely thanked him for his gift - like a complete ingrate – I thought he'd given me that salve." She narrowed her eyes as a sudden thought struck her. "Wait a minute. So when Varric said he was looking forward to seeing me put his gift on…why that  _dirty_ little – "

"Oh… _now_ I understand. Ooh, that's a bit naughty. He's been spending too much time with Isabela I think."

"Merrill…"

Merrill drew herself up. "He asked me not to say anything. He said he didn't want to buy your forgiveness or your affections. That if you returned his regard it should be honestly and that you'd  _know_ the gift was from him anyway. And then he did his threatening thing but I could tell he didn't really mean it."

"That's ridiculous! Why not just say? I wouldn't have mocked him for it."  _Oh, yes you would_  floated through her head.  _Back then you certainly would have._

"That's what I said. Then he gave me his  _really_ grumpy look."

Hawke wasn't listening. "His regard? So when I said I approved of his gift…he assumed…but I had no idea! And after that he was so…and things were better. Well, mostly. Then I, like a  _complete_ …" She clutched her head. "I honestly didn't know until then but he  _did_ …so when he…he  _wasn't_ doing it to _…_ oh  _Maker_ I'm such an idiot!"

Merrill put up a finger timidly. "Um, Hawke? I'm a bit lost now."

"I have to find him," muttered Hawke and vanished, leaving Merrill gaping after her.

* * *

Hawke fell through the front door of Fenris' adopted mansion. The estate was dark and silent. Hurrying towards the stairs she glimpsed the corpse who sat with his head bowed, both arms wrapped tightly around himself and drew in an anguished breath. She ran up the stairs not bothering to lift her hem, and, stepping on the dress in her haste, tore a large section away from the bottom. She reached his drawing room and came to an abrupt halt. The usually lit grate was cold and dark, what little possessions he had had were gone, bottles lay smashed and fresh splotches of wine daubed the walls. Hawke slowly surveyed the room. A flash of colour atop the mantle caught her eye and moving closer she saw that a small, red purse sat there. She picked it up and ran her fingers over it, eyes prickling.  _Silk._  Opening it she saw it contained a single lock of white hair and clenched her teeth painfully against the ache in her chest.

He was gone. She was too late.  _Too stubborn to see past your own wounded pride_ she thought furiously.  _Even after what you did he was still willing to forgive you and you didn't even bother to try and let him explain away your stupid misunderstanding._

She clutched the purse to her chest and after one last slow look around left the room.

* * *

Fenris approached his estate and rested his forehead briefly on the door. He had gotten a few miles inland before a sudden urge to return had hit him.  _Closure. This period of my life must be dead and buried before I can move forward. Wherever that may be._ Forcing himself to move he pushed open the door and padded into the foyer. The sight that greeted him at the foot of the stairs made him stop dead.

Hawke lay slumped, her dress ripped, her head pillowed in the corpse's lap, an empty bottle in her right hand. The corpse had one arm around her. It also appeared to be wearing her shoes.

"Hawke – " He moved swiftly towards her and knelt down, relaxing as a puff of warm breath touched his face. She stirred then and looked at him blearily, sitting up swiftly. She moved to push hair out of her eyes and promptly hit herself in the face with the wine bottle. He gently peeled the purse off her cheek where it had stuck itself, lips quirking in amusement.

"You drink too much, Hawke."

"You came back."

"I was going to bury our friend."

"You can't. He's got shoes."

"I…see that."

"No, no, the shoes mean everything. I accept the shoes, do you see? He was going to give them back to you so you could put them on again properly." She shook her head, trying to clear it. "On me. Not you."

"Hawke," he said slowly, hardly daring to breath. "What are you talking about? What are you doing here?"

"I didn't know about the shoes." She took a deep breath. "I didn't know you meant it, at the docks. I thought you were just…then a  _horrible_  old lady at the ball told me her friend saw you buying them and I left to ask Merrill. I tried to find you but I was too late and you were gone. "

He sat back on his heels, head tilted. She gazed at his impassive face.  _Is this too far gone to fix?_

"The ball? You just left?" He regarded her, expression unreadable.

Hawke felt a flash of irritation. "No, I'm still there, Fenris," she snapped. " _Yes,_ I left. I needed to speak to you. To apologise. Again."

"To apologise."

"I…yes."

He met her eyes for a moment and then dropped his gaze. After a moment she reached out and gently removed the purse still clutched in his hand. "This was for me?" she said carefully to the top of his head.

"Yes."

"There's still a lot of sow in here."

"That is what makes you indefinably Hawke." He smiled faintly. "I was going to give it to you before…" he faltered and shook his head. "But I could never find the right moment."

"In between our incessant arguments, you mean?"

"Indeed."

"Fenris – "

He looked up at her sharply, his face set. "If that kiss meant anything to you…if your feelings towards me have changed, Hawke," he said urgently. "Tell me now. Mine are…most ardent. If you do not share them you will forever silence me and I will leave this place. Tonight. I cannot be your friend. There is too much – " he stopped, eyes wide and pleading.

She was still for a moment -  _is she counting again?_ he thought feverishly - then picked up a gauntleted hand and, eyes on his, brushed her lips along the knuckles. Grimacing slightly at the cold of the metal she pulled the glove off with a flourish, repeating the action on bare skin. He quivered slightly at the feel of warm lips feathering over a twist of lyrium. "Don't go."

He gazed at her silently as if waiting and she tugged gently at his hand in response. He moved forward so quickly she was caught off-guard, nearly ending up flat on her back and suddenly his mouth was slanted against hers, hot and desperate and she half laughed, half sighed into the kiss. Just as quickly he broke away and looked at her, eyes searching her face worriedly until she pulled him down on top of her again with a smile, tangling a hand in his hair when he groaned softly against her lips.

"In any case, I'm not sure I could ever silence you, Fenris," she said, brushing her tongue gently against his lower lip. He opened his mouth then and for a while everything was warmth and sensation and desire, lips and tongues tasting, hands sweetly caressing. He gradually became aware she was shifting slightly beneath him and opened his eyes to see the corpse had been rearranged into pose that was unmistakeably thumbs up. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Am I to infer anything from this?"

"Just making sure you're not misreading my intentions for you. Your chest-plate is hard, and, amongst  _other_  things..."

"Humph."

"...so are these stairs. I may have a suggestion that will remedy all of these problems at once."

He hummed at her, narrowing his eyes slightly and then lifted himself, pulling her to her feet. He cast a thoughtful glance at the corpse.

"Maybe we should bury him after all."

"We can't. How will I know how you're feeling, what you're thinking after our next inevitable falling out?"

"You could always ask me."

"Where's the fun in that?" she replied lightly. He chuckled, turning his face away slightly and she pulled him gently around to press her lips to his. Ascending the stairs, she curled one hand into the fastenings of his armour and he gave her a small smile but the entrance to his drawing room he paused reluctantly.

"What is it?"

He did not quite meet her gaze. "You said once that inexperience was…endearing."

"You mean..?"

"Not that I can remember."

Hawke wound her arms around his waist, and smiled slyly up at him. "Looks like I've some lessons of my own to give you." She turned them both and walked him backwards into the room. "I can't promise to be gentle with you, however."

"I daresay I'll survive your attentions."

"In that case," she grinned and sketched a curtsey. "Shall we dance?"

END

 


End file.
